


of mercenaries and dangerous, bittersweet things

by KarenR2



Series: the sunrise was red, black and gold [2]
Category: South Park
Genre: Angst, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gregstophski, Humour, Jealousy, Mercenaries, Mercenary Life, Multi, Polyamory, Roommates, Smut, Threesome, tags to be added as chapters update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 11:46:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8371099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KarenR2/pseuds/KarenR2
Summary: Sequel to the events of "red, black, and gold" where Kyle, Christophe, and Gregory try to work out their unconventional three-way relationship. One is jealous and possessive; another is cold and aloof; and the last just wants to keep them all from killing each other, however tempting it may sometimes be. They make it work, somehow--most of the time. Gregstophski. Threesome.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is going to be where I dump all the prompts and such I have for this storyline/concept B)) Chapters will vary in length/format depending, and I'll try to keep it linear/chronological but there's no promises haha. Enjoy the wacky adventures!
> 
> This chapter focuses primarily on Kyle/Gregory because their relationship needed some serious developing mmhm.

 

In a way, it wasn’t possible for either of them to have loved each other before then.

They had natural chemistry, sure; there were sparks between them, their sharp words the flint and the exchange a collision that produced crackling heat. Sharp eyes—emerald green to lime hazel—were fearless and stubborn, challenging, mocking, making one’s blood boil and causing the other addicting amusement. Passion was certainly not lacking between them and they did greatly enjoy each other’s company, even if they would deny it.

Their previous circumstance had denied that spark from igniting into a full fire. Kyle hadn’t known why then, but his intuition had told him that Gregory was hiding something; thus, he could never fully trust him. Gregory was guarded, hiding secrets forever behind his polite and friendly smile. His eyes were cold, at times even unapproachable, as if he didn’t regard others as people more-so than zoo animals that he observed for his own amusement. It made Kyle’s shackles rise, made him put his own walls up in retaliation. He didn’t allow himself to believe that they could be anything more than partners who debated and argued and bantered, even if he could admit to a begrudging attraction.

In Gregory’s case, Kyle had been nothing more than a job. He wouldn’t have had any qualms if their ‘friendship’ had advanced further—it would have been fun, entertaining even, to see them translate their rivalry into the bedroom—but Kyle was sharply cautious and Gregory didn’t push. He wasn’t the type to pine or chase, unless he had some ulterior motive, and perhaps in his head, Kyle had already been claimed by Christophe despite them not having met then. If he’d put his mind to it though, he thinks he definitely could have had Kyle in his bed—it only needed one little push to careen them over the edge.

Then, when Kyle had joined them as their fellow mercenary, the Jew’s affections were nearly instantly monopolised by Christophe and the chance that Gregory thought he had became non-existent.

With their tentative decision to try this three-way relationship, that door existed again.

“I propose a game,” Kyle started as he looked over the back of the couch to look at Gregory, who was sitting at the kitchen island.

“Oh?” the blonde looked at him in interest, lifting his eyes from the newspaper he was reading. “What’s that?”

Kyle tried to look nonchalant but there was an unmissable redness to his cheeks. Gregory has observed him enough to know that he was nervous, and oddly embarrassed. It only piqued his curiosity more and he hid a smile, wondering what the redhead was thinking. “We need to get closer,” he blurted, his hands clenched as he used his crossed arms as a pillow for his chin.

“I think we’re already pretty close,” the blonde hummed, being purposefully daft just to irritate him. “I mean, remember that time I held your hair back when you puked in the toilet from that terrible flu? I wouldn’t have done that for just anybody.”

The memory was still a great embarrassment to Kyle, mortified that _Gregory_ of all people had seen him in such a whining and disgusting state, but oddly fond too because the other had nursed him back to health despite how repulsive he must have been. “I don’t believe you,” Kyle said, shaking the memory from his head. “I think you _would_ have done that for anybody, unless you actually hated them. You’re too nice.”

“Nice?” the other echoed, lifting an eyebrow sceptically.

Kyle couldn’t help but smile. “Yup. At least, too much of a gentleman to simply ignore them.”

“I’m glad you think I’m such an upstanding citizen,” Gregory said wryly, although he couldn’t help but appreciate the redhead’s words. He cared what Kyle thought of him, at the end of the day. “But we digress—what is this game?”

The easy smile that had appeared on Kyle’s face turned a little strained and he was too slow to hide the wince. “The game,” he started carefully, “involves us trying to, you know, become _romantically_ closer.” The blush was back in full force on his cheeks and he glanced away, reluctant to see Gregory’s reaction.

The British man resisted the urge to laugh. It was rare to see Kyle so bashful, and he wanted to observe him in this flustered state a bit longer before inevitably provoking that familiar anger. “And how do you propose one would play this ‘game’?” Gregory humoured, his hazel eyes gleaming.

Kyle glanced at him quickly but was unable to keep their gaze. “Um, you know—we can try to be more intimate?” he murmured, self-consciously tugging at his own curls. “Like, I don’t know—little touches? To cross that line?”

Finally, Gregory put down his newspaper and stood up from his stool. “Cross _what_ line?” he asked, beginning to approach the other.

Kyle caught the movement and instinctively narrowed his eyes at the nearing mercenary, unable to not compare him to a lion beginning its prowl towards its prey. He tensed and Gregory didn’t miss the change; he tried even harder to keep the smile from his face, knowing that the redhead would perceive the baring of teeth as threatening. “You know,” Kyle grunted, playing up the act that he _wasn’t_ getting steadily more nervous with every step he took. “The line that unconsciously tells me that you belong to Christophe only, and anything between us exclusively is taboo?”

“Is it not?” the blonde asked, greatly enjoying this game. He leisurely walked around the back of the couch, Kyle’s gaze unwavering like he had a target lock on him.

“Of course not,” he responded, trying not to tense even more when Gregory sat down next to him closer than usual. Kyle turned his body to face him and defiantly met his eyes. “If this threesome is going to work—” he still couldn’t say that word without flushing—“then I want to be as close to you as Christophe is.”

Gregory was surprised at that admittance, although he hid it expertly. “You do, do you,” he murmured, his lips quirking slightly upward. He casually threw his arm over the back of the couch, leaning forward slightly towards the Jew.

To his merit, Kyle didn’t back away, despite the instinctive discomfort at his proximity spurred on by an old caution. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his heart beating quickly in the confines of his chest. Doubt wormed its way into his eyes; he’d seen it before. “I mean—if you want to too.”

The blonde tilted his head, watching him curiously. Kyle was usually so confident, and he was sure that the redhead was aware of the electricity between them—he’d have to be daft if he didn’t, which Kyle was not. He wondered about this strange, quiet insecurity that the other had, this peculiar chip in his otherwise self-confident armour. Did he not realise how gorgeous he was? “I think,” Gregory started carefully, reaching out with a hand towards him; Kyle allowed him to, a soft frown on his face, “that this ‘game’ you’re proposing is a horrible idea.” He gently tugged at one of Kyle’s curls, soft between his fingers. Gregory suddenly wanted to run his hand through his hair, wanted to grab it tightly; he resisted the impulse.

Confusion flittered across Kyle’s expression and he looked at him defiantly. “Why?” he demanded, his blush deepening slightly at Gregory’s casual touch. Still, the look was familiar—it was the stubborn, pinched expression he wore whenever Gregory argued against one of his plans or points.

“Because,” the other quipped, continuing to rub the red curl between the pads of his fingers. “If we’re simply allowed to touch each other whenever we want—” He suddenly moved forward, the cushions shifting beneath him as he leaned into Kyle’s personal space. The redhead stiffened, his eyes owlish and watching him unblinkingly. Gregory’s own gaze twinkled as he neared, his breath ghosting the other’s lips—“then where would be the fun in that?” he finished, and it would only take one, small movement to cross the distance between them and close the space.

Kyle suddenly glared, reading the challenge in Gregory’s eyes. He surged forward, their mouths meeting harshly, and the blonde winced a little due to the force. He pulled back but Kyle followed him hotly, a hand suddenly at the back of his head and clutching at neat blonde hair, keeping Gregory in place. He was surprised at the Jew’s boldness, instantly aware of the sudden spike of blood production in his body as his heart rate rabbited. He sharply inhaled when Kyle bit at his bottom lip, his mouth opening with the gasp, and abruptly he desired nothing more than to deepen the close-mouthed kiss, wanted to feel that tongue on his own—

But Kyle was already moving away and Gregory wasn’t blind to the smugness in those green eyes. His own lemongrass gaze narrowed in return, his face feeling warm.

“ _I_ think,” Kyle nearly _purred_ , “that it would be even _more_ fun if we skip the dancing around.”

The flush was still on the Jew’s cheeks and he almost seemed _coy_ with the way he regarded the other casually beneath auburn lashes; Gregory stared, purposefully licking his lips, thinking he could taste Kyle on them. Kyle’s eyes followed the movement and Gregory suddenly smirked; ah, well then—let the game begin. The air shifted between them now, static threatening to catch fire; they both sensed it and the intensity in that emerald-coloured stare was delightful.

“I didn’t realise that you were such a harlot, Kyle,” Gregory commented at last, teasing.

The glare was quick and fierce, making Gregory’s blood pump hot.

“I’m _not_ ,” he growled, his blush deepening with indignation. His hand finally fell away from the back of Gregory’s head and the blonde instantly missed the contact. “I mean, I don’t want to do anything like _that_ straight away—I just meant that we can, I don’t know—” he huffed, visibly agitated—“kiss sometimes? Hold hands?” He shrugged jerkily, his lips pursed.

“And go on dates?” Gregory added mildly, greatly amused by this situation.

Kyle clenched his teeth, unsure whether or not he was being teased again and not knowing how to respond at first. “We don’t need to go on _dates_ , I just—” His sentence broke and frustration bled onto his expression. “You know what? Forget it,” he said, suddenly exasperated, his face red. “This is too fucking awkward to talk about out loud. If you don’t _get it_ then just—just never mind. I don’t want this to seem _forced_ —”

Before Kyle could move away, Gregory dropped his hand to his wrist, holding it lightly. It effectively made the other still, although Gregory could feel the tell-tale pulse beneath his thumb; it was fast. “So you want me to court you,” he summed up, smiling.

Kyle’s eyes narrowed, clenched his teeth. “Or I can court _you_ ,” he rebuked.

“You think you can out-court me, Broflovski?”

He snorted, trying to ignore his sudden nervousness. “Why? You think you’re some sort of Casanova?” He was already regretting how this conversation was turning out. He was talking to _Gregory_ , notorious smooth-talker, handsome gentleman, mischievous tease—

Gregory’s eyes gleamed at the challenge. “Guess you’ll find out for yourself,” he said simply, and his thumb was gently brushing against the inside of his wrist, the action feeling intimate as it smoothed over his pulse.

Fuck. Kyle tried not to let him know that he was being affected. His pride took over, not wanting to lose to him. “Or _you’ll_ find out,” he said, and he wasn’t sure if that actually made any sense—his mind was a bit fuzzy right now. “I’m pretty sure I’m nicer than you.”

Gregory scoffed, rolling his eyes slightly. He lifted up Kyle’s hand, brought it closer to him, and Kyle instantly panicked because he _wasn’t—_ “Well, it’s a good thing I don’t intend for this to be a contest of ‘niceness’,” he said, the light in his eyes dancing. He held Kyle’s fingers and tenderly kissed his knuckles, maintaining eye contact the whole time. “Game on, Broflovski.”

Double fuck. He gaped, face crimson, unable to look away. Before he could formulate a retort or a returning action, Gregory dropped his hand and suddenly stood up, languidly stretching his arms above his head, a sliver of skin flashing at his stomach. Kyle shut his mouth up tight, clenching his teeth—

Not even a minute into the game, and he was already two points ahead of him.

Gregory smirked and Kyle glared hotly.

Neither intended to lose.

* * *

 

Kyle wasn’t with them the next morning, which Gregory thought was awfully rude because he prepared his favourite breakfast—American-styled bacon, poached eggs, and toasted tomato slices, with a side of French toast and strangely enough, Greek yoghurt with blueberries. Christophe, who usually didn’t wake up until well past eleven in the morning, had emerged from his den prematurely to most likely sneer in disgust at the nauseating smells wafting from the kitchen.

“What ze fuck, Gregory,” were the first words Christophe greeted him that morning, surprised to find the blonde behind the kitchen stove. He glared at the frying bacon as if it was a personal offence to him and then at Gregory for his betrayal. “I zought zat eet waz _Kyle_ who waz making ‘is usual disgusting American sheet.”

He skipped breakfast a lot, but if he woke up to the rude awakening of Kyle’s frying, he made it a point to come out and demand that Kyle be less of a disgusting American pig while at the same time eating the bread and spread prepared for him. Gregory thought it was fun for them, the routine back-and-forth American-French insults, and anyway—it was nice seeing Christophe grumpily arguing in his half-asleep state. It was endearing.

“Yeah, well,” Gregory said, smiling, “it _is_ for Kyle—I thought I’d surprise him this morning with something nice.”

Christophe looked at him suspiciously, his morning sleepiness retreating quicker than usual. “… Zat eez not like you,” the Frenchman grunted, crossing his arms. “You ‘ate zis unholy meat in ze morning tradition of zese pigs just as much as I do.”

“Not as much as you,” Gregory felt the need to comment, chuckling at Christophe’s glower. “Anyway, didn’t he tell you about our new… ‘arrangement’?” he asked, momentarily not knowing what to call this new game of theirs.

“Somezing about you two trying to get closer,” Christophe said with a grunt, waving his hand dismissively. He dug into his pockets for his cigarettes; before, he would’ve left them on the kitchen counter to smoke in the morning, but ever since Kyle began to live with them, the boxes mysteriously disappeared the next day. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who took them, although where they went was a slight mystery because Christophe had searched the trashcans to no avail. When he raged at Kyle to return them, the Jew played innocent until the very end and the Frenchman had stormed off in an angry huff. He didn’t leave his cigarettes lying around haphazardly in the apartment anymore—at least, not in plain sight. “’e explained eet to me, but eef eet means you start cooking _zis_ crap more often, zan I already ‘ate eet.”

“You sure you don’t hate it because I might make Kyle fall more in love with me than you?” The sentence was out before he could stop it; he cursed his own natural ability to tease and push buttons.

Christophe mercilessly blew smoke in his direction and gave him the finger. “Fuck you,” he said coolly.

Gregory quickly moved on from the subject; the Frenchman was touchy about things like that and he didn’t want more drama. “Can you go wake up Kyle?” he asked gently. “I’m pretty much done here.”

His suggestion was silently complied, Christophe disappearing while Gregory shut off the stove and carefully put the fried meat onto the prepared plates. He was just taking out the juice from the fridge when he heard Christophe return from behind him but when he glanced back, he quirked his eyebrow at the lack of a redhead in tow.

“’e’s not zere,” Christophe said between his cigarette, shrugging. He put up a piece of paper pinched between his fingers. “’e’s out.”

Gregory’s face twisted into a confused scowl, frowning at the brunette. “What? Where’s he gone so early in the morning?”

“Didn’t say,” he said airily, scrunching the note and throwing it on top of the counter. “Maybe eet haz somezing to do wiz your new game.” He crushed the half-used cigarette into the ashtray and turned away. “I’m going back to sleep,” he muttered and then without another word, he stalked off, leaving Gregory alone in the kitchen feeling very irritated and oddly rejected.

He stared at the plates of lovingly prepared breakfast and scowled, crossing his arms and leaning his hip against the counter, thinking. Yes, Kyle was being terribly rude—he probably _predicted_ that Gregory would try to do something like this and went out to escape it. He clicked his tongue in displeasure. Somehow, that just seemed like blatant rule-breaking to him, even though no rules had been inexplicitly said. _Avoidance_ seemed to be the obvious one, as it made their whole courtship thing redundant. He put the juice back and began preparing himself coffee, resolved to just leave the breakfast out on the counter.

He was going to guilt-trip the hell out of Kyle when he was back.

He was waiting in the living room alone when there was a knock on the front door. Immediately, Gregory tensed, glancing curiously at it. The knocking was a completely foreign sound; they never had anything delivered to their home and Gregory made sure they lived in an area where there were _no_ door-to-door knockers preaching about religion or their cult. He was going to ignore it until he heard a “Hello? Gregory?” from the other side, and the voice was familiar.

It was Kyle.

Puzzled, Gregory stood up at last and approached the door. Had the Jew forgotten his keys? A million possibilities passed through his mind, not all of them so benign, and as he approached the front door he casually reached out for the drawer of their side-table—in that compartment was their emergency gun.

“At dusk,” Kyle’s voice said again, sounding a little rushed as if he’d just remembered their safe phrase.

Gregory’s hand retracted from the drawer and the wariness turned into pure curiosity. He unlocked and opened the door, greeted by a sheepishly smiling redhead; he was hiding something behind his back. “What are you doing?”

Without further pause, Kyle flourished a colourful mess from behind him and presented it to the bewildered Gregory. “For you,” he said simply, and despite his attempt of a casual expression, his lips were upturned in a smirk.

It was a bouquet of flowers.

The flower choices of the bouquet could have made for a disastrous mess of sporadic shapes and clashing colours in another life; however, it was arranged in a way that made it colourful rather than gaudy, made it have personality rather than give the impression of haphazardly placed flowers. There was a multitude of different coloured roses, yellow, pink, lavender, and orange; there was a single orchid in the middle, red and white carnations framing the left and blue hydrangea on the right. It was delicately put together and Gregory wondered if Kyle had done it himself or if he had a florist arrange it for him—he would put money on the latter, since Kyle wasn’t exactly the most artistic person when it came to these kinds of things. Gregory being surprised was an understatement—he hadn’t expected this. It was so… _cheesy_.

“So this was where you rushed off to this morning?” he asked, taking the bouquet off Kyle’s hands. They were still at their apartment doorway.

“Yup. Also, to avoid you maybe making breakfast for me.” Kyle looked over Gregory’s shoulder to see the plates of food at the counter. His smirk widened slightly. “Which I see you did.”

Reminded, Gregory frowned and stepped aside to let the Jew in. “It seems unfair that you did that; doesn’t it defeat the purpose?”

Kyle walked in casually, heading straight for the counter. “Well, to be fair, I didn’t avoid you for the sake of just avoiding you,” he said lightly. He took a plate and put it in the microwave. “I actually went to get you those flowers, so you could say that it was a _tactical_ outing.” There was no mistaking the cheekiness on his expression.

It was past noon. “You took an awfully long time,” Gregory said, closing the door and walking towards the other cautiously, the bouquet still tentatively held in his hands as if he didn’t know what to do with them.

“Well, I didn’t _just_ buy flowers,” he said mysteriously, glancing at the blonde from the corner of his eye. He grinned and said nothing more.

Gregory knew he wouldn’t receive any answers if he pried, so he moved on. He stared at his bouquet, inhaling the pleasant, flowery scents. He figured he should say something. “They’re beautiful.” No one had given him flowers before. Ever. “… Thank you.”

Their eyes met and the smirk on the other’s face softened into a genuine smile, those green eyes pleased. “You’re welcome,” he said. The microwave dinged and he took out his plate of old breakfast, sitting down on the stool and beginning to dig in. “Thank you for the breakfast,” he said belatedly, stabbing eagerly at the bacon. He laughed. “What did ‘Tophe say when he saw you making this?”

Feeling a bit girlish for just continuing to hold the flowers, Gregory set off to find a vase for it, wondering if they even had any. “He was positively disgusted with me,” he answered absently.

Kyle laughed again. The sound made Gregory’s chest warm.

Point for Broflovski.

* * *

Later on, Gregory was laughing to himself in the privacy of his own room.

He’d sensed that there was something hidden in the strange collection of flowers, and so he’d looked up their meanings.

Kyle really was quite thoughtful.

His favourite was the double entendre of the hydrangea. It was sly and snarky and Gregory loved it anyway.

* * *

 

When Kyle woke up one morning, he was surprised to see something new at his table.

Alarmed at first that someone had been in his room while he was sleeping, Kyle narrowed his eyes, instantly wary. He slid out from his sheets and padded over towards his table where the small, innocent box was left. It was sleek, the casing a sophisticated mahogany brown and made of velvet, tied with a silky red ribbon with a neat bow on top. He reached out and read the tag on it.

 _‘For you’_ it read simply.

When Kyle opened it, there were two golden little spheres that reminded Kyle immediately of Ferrero Rocher. But the DL initials engraved beneath the lid of the box confused him and a quick google search later, he was storming out of his room with the box tightly clutched in his hand. Gregory was in the kitchen preparing a mug of coffee and he didn’t even turn to acknowledge Kyle’s presence until the Jew blurted, “I can’t believe you!”

At last, Gregory faced him and despite the unassuming smile on his face, his eyes were shining with suppressed mirth. “Do you not like it?”

Kyle was waving the box around, his cheeks red, not sure if he was angry or embarrassed or flattered or just in a complete state of disbelief. “You gave me chocolate made with _edible gold_!” he sputtered. “I—What the hell? You want me to _literally_ shit gold out of my ass?”

Gregory couldn’t help the mortified laugh that escaped him, the profane accusation not the first he would have thought. “What would I have to gain from such a thing?” he asked without thinking, realising a bit too late that maybe Kyle was joking. A light pinkness dusted his pale cheeks and he continued smoothly, “I _would_ have bought you the box with eight chocolates, and the minted, limited edition Swiss coin that came with it, but I was concerned about the state of your diabetes and didn’t want to actually tempt you towards a chocolate-gold overdose.”

“You are fucking unbelievable,” the redhead said, and there was a wide smile on his face. “You are so fucking lucky that a specific bigoted frienemy of mine isn’t here; if he knew I was gifted fucking _gold_ in _chocolate_ , he’d be having a field day.”

Strangely enough, Gregory didn’t like how he was thinking of his old friend—his old _life_ ; he never intended for his gift to be associated with _them_. He didn’t know how to respond to that statement, but luckily Kyle continued without sensing anything amiss. “Just like you to give me something like this though,” he snorted, a light blush on his cheeks. “It’s the kind of pompous gift that I’d expect you to give someone.”

“Charming,” Gregory said wryly; he hadn’t known what he expected exactly, but he maybe hoped for more of a… gracious reaction from the Jew? He didn’t know, but he was left wanting for something.

Kyle put the box on the counter and opened it, daintily picking up one of the golden chocolate orbs and observing it carefully for a moment, turning it in the air like it was some treasure from an ancient tomb. Then he plopped it in his mouth, beginning to chew—almost immediately, he groaned aloud, closing his eyes in bliss. Gregory watched him unabashedly, suddenly wondering if Kyle making those sounds and looking like that was appropriate in the kitchen so early in the morning; the redhead worked his jaw sensually as he ate the treat, slow and whispering something that sounded suspiciously like “Oh my God” in a breathless sigh. He watched as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the action along a long, pale neck, and he instinctively gulped as well, his mouth feeling dry. He could’ve sworn that his heart skipped a beat when Kyle’s eyelids finally fluttered open and he glanced at him beneath his lashes, dark green irises slightly blown. Gregory had to keep from gaping because it was terribly _sinful_ for Kyle to look like he had been completely seduced by a mere bite of chocolate.

The redhead crossed the distance between them suddenly and Gregory felt a little trapped in their open kitchen. Before he knew what was happening, Kyle grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him forward for a spontaneous kiss. His lips tasted like sweet, sweet chocolate and Gregory opened his mouth, wanting more, and Kyle gave it to him; the kiss was filthy, deep in a way that none of their previous kisses had ever been, and Gregory felt arousal shoot through him, making his stomach tighten pleasantly. He closed his eyes, tilting his head and grabbing Kyle by the back of his, deepening the kiss and thoroughly ravaging the other’s sweetened mouth, tasting the chocolate, consuming him as if he _was_ the delicious dessert that he’d eaten. Kyle was making those noises again, moaning helplessly into his mouth, and Gregory had a sudden epiphany—Kyle must be _loud_ in bed.

When they finally pulled apart, Gregory was slightly panting and there was a victorious look in Kyle’s eyes.

“… You did that on purpose,” Gregory breathed, licking his moistened lips and still tasting that damned chocolate on his tongue.

Kyle actually _winked_. “A show just for you,” he murmured, his gaze dancing. “That was my thank you. How many gold-laced kisses have you had?”

Gregory watched him, wishing that he could pick apart the other’s thoughts for not the first time. “None before now,” he answered, just as quiet, his lips quirking into a half-smirk.

The answer pleased the other, his hand flat on Gregory’s chest rather than gripping his shirt now. “You’re welcome,” he said cheekily, grinning.

Gregory punished him for his sass by dipping down and kissing him again, his hands holding his face.

Kyle did not rebuff him.

When they pulled back again, they were both breathless, Gregory’s fingers intertwined in red hair and Kyle’s hands clutching at his shirt as if that was all that was keeping him upright. Kyle was looking at him with that dazed, soft way that had Gregory’s heart thudding noticeably in his chest, made warmth spread through him in a way he never usually allowed. He cradled his head, wanting to memorise the look forever.

Kyle licked his lips, smiled. “Chocolate that good, huh,” he teased. “Couldn’t help yourself.”

Gregory scoffed lightly, an echoing smile on his lips as well. “Didn’t do that for the chocolate,” he said, surprisingly genuine. Kyle’s eyes lit up and he decided he didn’t regret it at all.

Kyle kissed him again, this one short and close-lipped but sweeter than any of the ones before.

* * *

 

“We have to talk about gifting rules.”

“What do you propose?”

“Nothing too expensive. The chocolate you gave me? The limit. I looked up what the box of eight would’ve cost and just— _no_.”

“Aw, shame. I was going to ask you out on a date to a black-tier sushi restaurant.”

“… A what?”

“Super expensive sushi.”

“How expensive can sushi be?”

“There’s a restaurant where a menu is non-existent and the head chef exclusively makes your sushi dishes. A price for two can go up to two-hundred and fifty.”

“Shut up.”

“It’s true.”

“There better be golden flakes on those fish, god _damn_.”

He laughed.

* * *

 

After the initial gifts of flowers and chocolate—the standard start of any courtship—they fell to more casual shows of affection: a brush of their hands beneath the kitchen counter; the press of their shoulders together when they sat on the couch; a small kiss on the cheek when they were feeling extra indulgent and ironic. Kyle seemed to be particularly fond of grasping his fingers in his, intertwining them while they watched television or just lazing around.

When Christophe was with them, Kyle had no qualms about showering both of them with little gestures of endearment. The brunette always looked a little jealous when Kyle held his hand, so the redhead always made sure to touch him too, to either brush his fingers through his hair or to hold his hand too. Christophe would grip his hand back tightly, as if in his mind, the tighter the hold the more worthy he was of love.

Kyle looked at him knowingly and lifted up their joined hands, pressing his cheek against the back of his. “Thought you said that hand-holding was stupid,” he quipped lightly.

Both Gregory and Kyle appreciated the way Christophe angrily blushed and muttered something—probably a curse—under his breath; still though, he didn’t retract his hand. Instead, he loosened his hold and twisted his hand until he was cupping Kyle’s face, suddenly leaning forward and closing the gap between them to steal a kiss—claiming him. Kyle welcomed it without hesitation, his eyes closing and a flush in his cheeks, fingers finding its familiar place in messy brown hair. Behind him, Gregory watched, feeling a little awkward since this was the first time he’d seen them kiss so closely. He made to disentangle his hand from Kyle’s but the redhead only tightened his grip, not letting him go.

Frowning, Gregory glanced down and then looked back up, startled when he realised that Christophe was looking at him while they kissed. A look passed between them, Christophe watching him carefully, but then he closed his eyes and continued to tenderly kiss the Jew. The bistre eyes hadn’t been malicious or hostile; in fact, they had simply been curious and calm, hooded. Gregory waited for a beat then shuffled closer, keeping his fingers resolutely joined with Kyle’s; he placed a tentative kiss on the back of the redhead’s shoulder blade.

Kyle broke the kiss with a sigh and he slumped forward to lean his forehead on Christophe’s shoulder, squeezing Gregory’s fingers. The blonde couldn’t see his face, but he heard him when he murmured a little brokenly, “I’m happy.”

Gregory and Christophe exchanged a glance and suddenly, the former wished he could hold Christophe’s hand just as easily as Kyle seemed to, but he knew that his efforts would be rebuffed and it didn’t sit well with him anyway. That kind of easy-going affection wasn’t them, not just yet. Instead, they looked at each other and Gregory made a half-smile, a tentative question. Christophe received it and while he didn’t smile in return, his eyes softened.

“C’mere,” the Frenchman suddenly said, a low murmur.

Gregory didn’t need to be asked twice. He leaned over Kyle’s body, his chest lightly pressing against the other’s back, and they shared a quick kiss. Kyle turned his head slightly and pressed his lips over the pulse in Christophe’s neck, smiling at how it quickened.

* * *

They couldn’t have possibly loved each other back then, but more and more clearly, Gregory felt like it was at least a little possible now.

Lust was nothing new between them, had been present from the beginning. The heat was crackling, all-consuming, threatened to burn them alive. Gregory was reminded of this when he caught Kyle one evening bending over to check something in the oven. Not for the first time, he acknowledged the perfect backside of the Jew’s, coveted by many and accessible only to a few. A thought passed through him that one of those _few_ could very well be _him_ , and he suddenly wanted to make good on that claim. He stalked forward silently, a tiger to its unsuspecting prey, and stood behind the bending redhead and casually put his hands on either side of his hips.

“Huh?” was the first thing that slipped through the other’s lips, stiffening and moving to stand up and turn to see whose hands were currently on him, but before he could, Gregory pushed him until his hips were flush against the kitchen counter, away from the oven because he was considerate like that. “Hey—” he started, a familiar agitation in his voice, hands bracing himself on the bench.

But Gregory boldly leaned forward, his chest pressed against the slight back, hands still gripping his waist. “Guess who,” he murmured into the redhead’s ears, the smirk evident in his tone.

“Gregory?” Kyle asked, confusion accompanying the annoyance. “What are you—”

“You seduced me,” he said, interrupting him, his voice a low baritone. The effect was not lost on him and he smirked wider when he felt Kyle shiver. He rubbed firm circles into his hips, a strangled gasp escaping the redhead as his body jolted.

“W-What,” he said again, straining his neck to look at him, gaze narrowed. “I think that’s what _you’re_ trying to do right now.”

When their eyes met, Gregory gave a lazy kiss to his cheekbone. “Am I succeeding?”

“We’re in the kitchen!”

“And? Would you be upset if we desecrated it right now?”

“ _What_!” Kyle successfully twisted himself so that he was now facing the blonde, but he continued to press himself against the counter as if to avoid touching him excessively. Gregory leaned forward nonetheless, caging him in; their hands were nearly touching. Kyle was blushing violently now, his face attractively crimson. Gregory reached up impulsively and tucked some wild strands of red curls behind the other’s ears; his hazel eyes lit up when he saw that the tips of them were red as well, feeling stupidly pleased. “Gregory, what’s up with you?” he asked, scowling.

He shrugged noncommittedly, pressing himself closer so that their hips were flushed against each other’s. He was delighted with the way Kyle’s breath hitched, his body going statue-still. “Am I not allowed?” he asked instead, his gaze half-lidded and his breath ghosting over Kyle’s lips.

Those emerald-green eyes hazed over a little, a familiar, wanton heat making them dark. “… You’re allowed,” Kyle admitted quietly, a secret murmur.

Gregory’s eyes lit up and he smiled crookedly, moving to bridge the gap between them—

But his lips met with the palm of Kyle’s hand instead and he looked at the other in puzzlement.

“But _not_ now,” the redhead griped, a slight glare on his face. “Dinner is almost fucking ready and I will _die_ if ‘Tophe catches us like that.”

Gregory tugged the hand off of his face and said lightly, “Isn’t one of the perks of a threesome that we _can_ watch each other if we wanted?”

Kyle’s cheeks burned. “We are not at that stage yet, you fucking pervert.” He pushed Gregory’s chest and the British man allowed it easily, stepping away and giving Kyle his space. “Besides, our first time in the kitchen? Thought you had more class than that.”

Gregory’s eyes gleamed. “I was jesting, but if you really insist—”

“No!” Kyle denied, aghast.

The blonde laughed. “I’d have been gentle,” he said, his smile anything but innocent.

The redhead narrowed his eyes in return, quirking an eyebrow. “What makes you think _you’d_ be the one topping?”

Gregory mirrored the look. “Because I assume you bottom for Christophe, and he bottoms for me.”

Kyle couldn’t turn any redder and he indignantly retorted, “That’s not what _he_ said—”

“What ze fuck.”

They both whipped their heads towards the brunette who was standing to the side with his arms crossed. He had a thunderous look on his face and Kyle wondered in a panic how long he’d been there for.

“Christophe,” Gregory said pleasantly, not missing a beat. “Just in time. I was telling Kyle how—”

“I heard,” Christophe grunted. He glanced at Kyle. “’e’s lying. He’s a pampered, spoilt beetch.”

Gregory rolled his eyes. “You let me top _sometimes—_ ”

“Zis discussion eez over,” the Frenchman said bluntly, no room for argument.

But the blonde put up a hand towards his face and stage-whispered to Kyle boldly, “He just likes to feel dominant a lot, so I humour him.”

“ _Gregory_ ,” Christophe snapped, not looking happy at all. His eyes narrowed dangerously and didn’t leave even when Gregory held up his hands in a mock placating manner. He grumbled something beneath his breath and then said, louder, a warning in his eyes, “Eef you two decide you’re ready to fuck—” he paused, feeling conflicted for a moment, before pushing through and finishing gruffly—“zen I want to be zere.”

A dense silence fell upon them, their hearts thudding almost painfully.

Kyle and Gregory shared a bewildered glance before they turned to look back at Christophe, who was shuffling awkwardly on his feet. They all realised how significant this moment was, what it meant for them. Kyle was the first to break the silence, crossing the distance swiftly and grabbing at Christophe’s face. “Yeah, okay,” he said, loud enough for Gregory to hear. “If you want. If you’re sure?”

Christophe reached up and gripped the redhead’s wrist. “… Yeah,” he breathed quietly, Gregory just able to make out the word. “I want to see.”

Kyle kissed him then, slow and sweet, and Christophe closed his eyes to reciprocate, the tenseness slowly easing from his body. Gregory wondered how Kyle could be so in-tuned with the other’s emotions like that; how did he know exactly what to do to placate the brooding, pessimistic man?

And then Gregory thought, suddenly, maybe, that _Kyle_ had always been—

“Gregory.” It was Christophe’s grunting voice, interrupting him from his thoughts. They locked eyes and Kyle tried to turn to look at him too, but Christophe kept his hand at the back of his head and didn’t allowing him to. He kept Kyle’s face against his neck, blind and turned away from their exchange.

Kyle squirmed a little in the hold, confused. “’Tophe—?”

“Do you like Kyle?”

The redhead stilled in his arms and Christophe’s eyes remained unwavering from Gregory’s. It was an echo of a question from what seemed like ages ago, one he had failed to answer, too slow, too hesitant. But when Gregory glanced at Kyle, at the back of his head being cradled so tenderly by a large, usually rough hand, the answer was as clear as anything.

Gregory wanted to hold him like that too.

He nodded and for Kyle’s sake, he said, “Yes.”

Christophe searched him for any hint of deceit; Gregory looked steadily back, hiding nothing, not even a little nervous under that piercing, intimidating stare.

He knew what he felt, more certain than anything.

They went at their own pace. Their strange relationship of sharp banter and subtle touches was theirs alone, their little, exclusive game to see who could fluster and bewilder the other and catch them off-guard. It was fun, it kept them on their toes, and unlike before when they played this game, there was a genuine sweetness there that simmered quietly beneath the electricity. Gregory didn’t know how that was possible—

And then he’d realised it was a feeling similar to how he felt about Christophe—that silent warm affection mixed with the consuming, infuriating heat. That was what he felt for Kyle. He didn’t know when it became that way but it existed, tentative and growing.

He looked at the redhead and he wanted him.

He wanted to be the subject of that tender affection; he wanted to experience that passion he’d only had a taste of still.

Whatever it was that Christophe saw in him, it seemed to be acceptable. He let Kyle go and the redhead turned; his cheeks were flushed and he was smiling, his eyes happy. Gregory was inwardly jolted, not used to seeing such open, genuine feelings directed at him, and he was suddenly scared of mishandling it like he’d done countless times before.

He coughed into his hand, a little uneasy. “So. You said that dinner was almost ready?”

And Kyle, bless him—he understood.

“Should be,” he said, and the tension fell away like sunlight breaking through rain. He moved forward and grabbed the oven mitts. “Set up the table, please.”

Gregory and Christophe did so, a fluid machine.

Before Kyle came, they never had dinners together. The two realised that, acknowledged it together, with a single glance between them. They didn’t make a comment.

* * *

A knock on his bedroom door, just when he was about to get ready for bed. Curious, Gregory walked over and was greeted by green eyes and fiery red hair. Kyle reached over and lightly touched his wrist, leaning forward and kissing him chastely on the lips.

“I like you too.”

Gregory released a shuddering breath, unable to stop the humble smile that formed against the kiss.

Okay, he was man enough to admit it.

He’d lost.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I highly recommend reading the prequel 'red, black, and gold' to make the most sense out of this chapter! Most of it is a previously unwritten scene that took place in the prequel, because I wanted to explore more of Christophe's stance to the whole polyamory thing.
> 
> Angsty Christophe is angsty B)

Christophe remembered the very first time Kyle suggested a polyamory.

It was an ill-timed, spontaneous, half-baked  _brain-fart_  that Kyle had unfortunately blurted aloud in some desperate attempt to fix everything. To Christophe, the idea was a giant  _shit_ on a fucked up situation and it was not fucking welcome in the slightest.

“…  _What_?” he asked, the shock temporarily overriding his blinding rage. He stared at the Jew as if he’d suddenly morphed into a purple elephant with a pink ballerina tutu and told him he’d be flying to Antarctica to perform the Nutcracker for Emperor Penguins—Christophe was more than willing to twist his perception of reality to  _that_  than to accept what Kyle had just said to him.

He clenched his fists, feeling himself shaking as he stared at an equally stupefied Kyle. He wanted to punch him so badly, because if Christophe’s ears  _hadn’t_ failed him and he’d said what he did, then there was  _no excuse_  for that stupid expression on his face, like he was a fish out of water.

“I…” Kyle really looked like he was at a loss. “I mean…” He gestured helplessly with his hands, his face twisting into something like horror, and Christophe’s frustration and disbelief skyrocketed. Kyle must have caught the stormy expression because he took another step closer, holding out his hands in appeasement. “Just— _fuck_ , I didn’t—‘Tophe, just, hear me out, okay?”

“What’s more to hear?” he snapped, taking a step backward. (He’d run out of the apartment with bare feet so there was nothing protecting his soles from the snow, although honestly he welcomed the icy bite to the searing tear in his chest.) “First, I catch you kissing zat fucking cocksucker, and now you run out ‘ere to tell me zat you basically want to  _fuck him too_.” A bitter laugh tore itself from his throat, his mind finally catching up and his heart breaking even more. “Zere’s nothing more to fucking say.”

Kyle took another step forward and it was only because of pride that Christophe refused to take another step back. Instead, his expression turned darker and his lips twisted into a sneer, not hiding his hostility and point-blankly  _warning_  the other that if he got within fist-range, Christophe was very likely to just sock him. But frustratingly enough, the Jew didn’t back down from the challenge, wasn’t intimidated in the slightest. A part of Christophe, the part that still adored him, was impressed—the rest of him just hated his guts.

“Look, I’m  _sorry_ , okay,” Kyle tried, sincerity bleeding into his tone. “I swear,  _I_ wasn’t the one who kissed  _him—_ ”

“And zat completely wipes you of any blame,  _of course_ ,” Christophe growled, dark eyes narrowed dangerously. “ _You didn’t push him away._ ”

“I was shocked, alright?” he defended, frowning. “I wasn’t expecting it at all, so fucking sue me for not reacting as quickly as I should’ve!”

The Frenchmen ground his teeth together, his gut churning. He could still see them, Gregory and Kyle on that couch, too close,  _much too close_ ; in a single moment, all of Christophe’s insecurities were unearthed in a violent shift of tectonic plates, rapturing, expulsing, bubbling up hot and unwanted to the surface. Betrayal sat like deadweight on his chest, sabotaging his lungs more effectively than any of his cigarettes. He didn’t fucking care if he was overreacting; in his paranoid mind, Kyle could never be  _completely_  innocent, because Christophe wasn’t fucking blind—he saw how well the two got along and he wasn’t oblivious to the heat that existed between them either. At times, his  _own mind_  betrayed him when it thought that they’d make an attractive couple, that Gregory would be a better match for Kyle than Christophe ever was.

(It was like they spoke on some separate level of  _communication_ at times, oblivious to the world around them when they engaged in a heated argument; maybe it was just because they were two really, really smart boys who had the same penchant for cleanliness and organisation and rivalry, but  _damn_  if Christophe didn’t feel left out sometimes. He was immensely jealous of their unique connection, which was  _stupid_ , he  _knew_ that, he fucking  _knew that_ —but it didn’t make it better in the slightest.)

“What ze fuck does eet matter,” Christophe harshly growled. He looked away, glared at Kyle’s flip-flops (because at least  _he_  had the foresight to not go running outside barefoot like a madman). “Even eef ze asshole’s advances were not welcome  _then_ , you fucking revealed yourself when you suggested ze idea of a  _threesome_.” A self-deprecating chuckle, completely humourless; he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Zat’s as good as a confession, Broflovski.”

Kyle ran a hand through his hair; Christophe thought that he had no right to be frustrated with  _him_. “You don’t  _understand_ ,” he pleaded, which made the Frenchman’s eyebrow arch despite it all. Kyle never begged. “’Tophe, please.” He reached out again. “Can we just talk about this inside? It’s fucking cold out here and we’re going to freeze to death if we have this conversation in the open.”

But he was loathe to do anything for Kyle’s  _convenience_ , even if a large part of him knew that Kyle’s request was made out of concern for  _him_  too. Why hadn’t he grabbed his pack of smokes with him? Damn. He was itching for a stick, his fingers twitching in his pockets. “Zen you better make eet quick,” Christophe stated, his tone matching the chill of the snow. He met Kyle’s eyes again and held them, his jaw set.

The redhead huffed and the brunette tried to ignore the blossoming pinkness in the other’s cheeks, a combination no doubt of the crisp, cold air, frustration, and possibly (hopefully) mortified embarrassment and deep, deep shame. “I don’t know why Gregory kissed me,” Kyle started stiffly. Christophe almost laughed out loud again, angered disbelief surging through him, but the Jew continued before he could speak up. “He didn’t say a word, didn’t give any warning. Honestly, I’m pretty sure he just  _tolerates_  me for the most part, so I find it hard to believe that he actually  _likes me_. Fuck knows why he actually  _kissed_  me—”

“Bullsheet,” Christophe interrupted, hating the verbalisation almost as much as the act itself. “Eef you zink zat, zen why ze fuck would you suggest a  _threesome—_ ”

“Because even though I doubt he likes  _me_ , I am pretty goddamn sure he likes  _you_ ,” Kyle blurted, loudly and strained.

Christophe blinked. He watched Kyle’s face. He was scowling and his eyes, usually so steadfast, were averted. He recognised that look, that familiar, hateful unease. Kyle rubbed his arm awkwardly and he never before looked so meek, standing out in the snow with his flip-flops and loose jogging pants and a black, slightly oversized t-shirt that actually belonged to Christophe. The Jew was skinnier than he was and despite living in this mountain town his whole life he got cold easily; he could actually see him shivering despite the distance between them, although the redhead tried to control his tremors. Christophe let out a litany of curses beneath his breath (“Sheet, fucking asshole, goddamn Jew boys, getting sick way too fucking often, sticking zeir dumbass noses into—fuck—fucking _sheet_ , why do you hate me God you cocksucking asshole of a limp-dicked  _beetch_ , fuck _, sheet—_ ”), shaking his head and running his hands through his hair in frustration.

Even with Christophe’s simmering anger and hurt, he didn’t actually want him to catch a cold.

“’Tophe?” Kyle asked, staring at him oddly and a little tense. Christophe couldn’t blame him—he might look a little unhinged right now.

He released a ragged breath and sharply shook his head, as if shaking off demons from his hair. He took a sudden step forward and Kyle’s gaze was equal parts wary and hopeful. “Come on,” Christophe grunted, walking passed him. “The cold eez already getting to your head eef you’re sprouting bullsheet like  _zat_. You’re talking fucking nonsense.” He didn’t have to look back to know that Kyle was following him and they re-entered the apartment; it was only marginally less cold inside than it was outside, but at least it was away from the open chill. He sat down heavily on one of the plastic seats in the lobby, his hands still clenched in his pockets. He stared dully at the opposite wall,  _really_ wishing now that he’d brought his smokes, or had the mind to grab his wallet so that he could buy a new pack. Anyway, even if he could return to the apartment right now without feeling the murderous need to beat Gregory to a fucking pulp by mere proximity alone, Kyle would have no doubt followed him to the store by foot, because he was just that stubborn. That situation didn’t feel any fucking welcome either.

The Jew tentatively sat beside him, although he was tactful enough to keep an extra seat between them. Christophe wouldn’t have appreciated him crowding his space right now. “It’s not crazy,” he murmured, slumping in his chair. Christophe didn’t glance at him even when he heard the tell-tale thump of the back of his head softly hitting the wall behind him. The silence between them, rather than being dense with hostility, was oddly muted now. It would have been companionable if the Frenchman wasn’t still nursing his bitter hurt and simmering anger and the Jew wasn’t nearly jittery with nerves. “Listen, I know I messed up with saying that, okay. It’s just—It’s just something that I’ve been thinking about, ever since we got together.”

Christophe bristled and gritted his teeth. Kyle had been contemplating a threesome since they  _got together_? “So fucking nice to hear zat I was already so  _lacking_ ,” he snapped, glowering at the wall.

“That’s not what I meant,” Kyle said, actually sounding rather appalled, although the frustration and self-loathing was evident in his tone too. “Fuck, I’m usually so much more eloquent than this. This is just coming out all fucking wrong. I meant, I started thinking about it because I started to  _notice_  how Gregory was reacting to  _us_  and just, I don’t know—” He laughed, bitter and uneasy. He sat up a little and turned bodily towards the Frenchman, hesitating only for a moment before reaching out to him. “’Tophe, please believe me when I say that if I had it my way, I wouldn’t want to share you with  _anyone_.”

The touch on his shoulder made Christophe jolt and he shrugged the hand off, finally turning his head to glare furiously into green eyes. “Share  _me_?” he barked sharply. “Eef you had eet  _your way_? What ze fuck are you talking about? No one eez  _forcing_  you—” He hated this. He hated this whole awkward conversation, how Kyle’s stupid mouth and stupid head that was  _supposed_  to operate on a higher level than his had gotten them into this kind of situation. He may have gotten over Gregory’s transgression eventually—well, he would have at least forgiven  _Kyle_  soon enough because he knew deep down that the Jew wasn’t the type to betray him (he’s too  _good_  for that, too self-righteous to cheat on him if he was truly unhappy; he would have made his death quick and merciless). But this.  _This_  fucking topic of a fucking  _threesome_ , coming from  _Kyle’s mouth_? God truly was a heartless faggot that hated him. “Broflovski, you aren’t making any fucking  _sense—_ ”

“I just…” Kyle flinched his hand away from him and curled it into his lap instead. “Gregory likes you,” he echoed, desperately, at a loss. He wasn’t used to this feeling of helplessness. “I don’t know why, but I think the only reason he kissed me was because he was trying to get to  _you_  somehow. I think maybe he was… lonely.”

Christophe couldn’t help it. He laughed. He laughed, loudly and with abandon, the rough and guttural sound incongruous to the previously pregnant silence. He threw his head back, knocking it against the wall, but that didn’t stop the nearly hysterical laughter, only increased it in fact. He could feel Kyle’s stare on him but he didn’t fucking care, because how else did he expect he’d react to hearing  _that_. Did he really expect him to believe that Kyle was altruistic enough that he’d consider a threesome  _just_ because Gregory liked him, and Kyle wanted to spare his  _feelings_? If that was the case, then Kyle wasn’t as selfish as Christophe wished he would be, which honestly he didn’t buy for  a second. He  _knew_  Kyle’s pride wouldn’t let him be in a relationship where he was the third wheel to another’s—he’d bet his fucking life on it. Abruptly, the laughter ceased and he grinned wickedly at the Jew, a mad look in his dark eyes. “Zis eez unlike you, Broflovski,” he said, and his smile was all razor blades and cruelty. “Eef you’re attracted to Gregory, zen at least ‘ave ze  _balls_  to admit eet to me instead of trying to speak for  _him_  all ze time _._ You want to fuck him? Zen fucking  _say so_ and stop trying to be ze martyr who so  _generously_ lets me fuck another guy just because  _someone else_ wanted me.” He laughed again, but it was short and bitter. “Fuck. Eet’s like I don’t even know you.”

At least the other had the decency to flush, his cheeks turning red. His eyes did narrow though and fury made itself known on his expression, which was familiar. “Well,” he said coldly, “I  _am_ allowed to find other people aesthetically pleasing, am I not? Just because I like  _your_  dumb ass doesn’t mean that I can’t find other people attractive. It’s not like I’m alone in this, because  _you’ve_  actually fucked him multiple times already, haven’t you.”

Christophe wished that Kyle would just stop saying words that made it feel like a knife was twisting in his chest. How could the redhead say things like  _he liked him_  in same breath that he admitted that he found  _Gregory attractive_? Reasonably, it was only human, but it still stung and was not what Christophe wanted to hear right now. And Kyle bringing up his past experiences with Gregory, even though he knew full well it was before they even remembered each other? Low fucking blow. Kyle could be fucking  _petty_ at times.

He snarled and threw his hands up, standing up abruptly enough that the chair’s legs scraped against the floor and smashed against the wall. “Then why  _don’t you go fuck him instead_?” he snapped, twisted with rage and jealousy and pain and so much  _rage_.

Kyle stood up with him, of course he fucking did, because he always fought fire with fire. “You were the one who fucking told me to admit it!” he yelled back, and _goddamnit_  why did he have to look so pretty when he was flushed and angry, with that fire in his eyes that made them into emerald pools of pure  _heat_ ,  _God fucking **damn it**_ —“Which, by the way,  _doesn’t mean I want to fuck him_! He looks good! Ask fucking  _anyone_! I think  _a lot_ of people look good and I don’t want to fuck them, now do I?”

“How would I know?” Christophe said, feeding on this the anger between them, the frustration and the deadly wildfire. His blood was pumping hot through his veins, the adrenaline made him feel reckless and high. “You seem pretty fucking happy to just let anyone  _kiss_  you, after all.”

“Do I fucking  _look_  happy to you?” Kyle asked, incredulous, but there was danger in his voice, sharp and hysterical. He ran both hands through his hair, pulling at them slightly, and his eyes went a little helpless now, looking at Christophe with a bizarre, twisted expression that he didn’t know how to decipher completely. “I’m an idiot, okay? Can we just fucking forget what I said? God, I don’t—I fucking like  _you_ , ‘Tophe, how can you  _doubt that—_ ”

(It’s not fair, it’s not fair—that Kyle should say those words, hitting him where he was  _weak_.)

“Because you seemed pretty fucking okay with being in a relationship with  _Gregory_  on top of being in one with  _me_!” Kyle opened his mouth to reply, but Christophe was quicker and louder, “And don’t fucking say eet’s about  _Gregory’s feelings—_ ”  _what a fucking **riot**  that was_—“because how fucking  _stupid_  do you think I am? Do you ‘onestly think I’m  _zat_  dumb? Really?  I catch you fucking  _kissing him_  and then you suggest a  _threesome_ and just— **fuck**!” He lashed out with his foot and he kicked a chair, sending it flying and crashing violently into the wall, where it bounced back and skidded noisily across the floor. “Fuck, Kyle, just  _fuck you—_ ”

Kyle grabbed his face and a broken noise tore itself from Christophe’s throat as he tried to rip himself away, but Kyle was stubborn and he was strong and even when Christophe tried to push, he only held on firmer, his fingers slipping into messy, brunette hair and just  _holding_  and  _fuckfuckfuck **fuck**_ —

Christophe gripped Kyle’s arms tightly and pushed with all his strength, making the Jew stumble back and hit the wall. Christophe pressed him there and transferred his hands into the redhead’s own hair, diving in and smashing their mouths together, every inch of him ablaze and trembling with electric energy, frightening and powerful. It wasn’t a kiss, no, nothing so innocent—whatever it was, it was painful, ungraceful, teeth clashing together and tongues battling for dominance, their breaths hot and heavy between the scant space between them. Christophe didn’t care of he was hurting him; he didn’t care of he was pulling his hair too hard, if his bites were too rough—let Kyle feel how much he’d hurt him, let Kyle know how angry he was. He couldn’t stop thinking about how someone else’s lips had been on  _his_ , how it was  _Gregory_  who had done it, and it just  _burned him up inside_ , made him want to destroy something, made him want to erase  _everything_. He clawed his way down the Jew’s body, merciless in his grip, pushing him against the wall with his whole body and shoving a knee between his legs, swallowing the sharp hiss at the aggressive movement; he kneaded his hip, rutted against him violently, wanting to claim, just  _claim_ , remind him who he  _belonged to_ —

And then Kyle groaned into his mouth, the sound startling him enough to finally notice how Kyle’s own fingers were gentle in his hair, how he stroked and petted him and was just  _letting_  him be this rough, just letting him abuse him—

Christophe pulled his face back and the air between them was filled with their heavy pants, both of them breathless, their chests heaving against each other as they tried to supply their bodies with much needed oxygen. Kyle’s face was flushed and his lips were swollen and his eyes, while dilated with arousal, were also… sad.

How the fuck did he manage to look like that?

Kyle caught him looking and those lips quirked into a small, ironic smile. It was such a minute thing but it unravelled him and Christophe released a shaky breath, leaning forward again to rest his forehead against the other’s. His hands loosened its death grip on the Jew’s hips, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away completely; Kyle’s hands continued to stroke through his hair, soothing and gentle and caring.

“You fucking beetch,” he settled with saying for lack of anything else to say. They fell into dense silence broken only by their shared breathing, which was just as well—Christophe didn’t even know what was happening anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Kyle murmured, holding his gaze until Christophe slumped further and leaned his forehead against his shoulder. “I’m dumb, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Arms encircled him, held him close, fingers still running through his hair and lightly scratching at his scalp, the sensation making the touch more real than just a butterfly caress. “I never want to hurt you. I’m sorry. I like you. You’re enough for me,  _you are_.” A kiss to the side of his head, reverent and sweet and threatening to destroy him. “I never meant to imply otherwise. I’ve been so, so,  _so_ happy—I haven’t been so happy for a long time, and it’s all because of  _you_. I like you, ‘Tophe. I’m sorry.”

Christophe couldn’t take this. He didn’t believe himself worthy of such words (never did) and he couldn’t trust anything right now when he was suddenly feeling so vulnerable. He pulled away and Kyle let him and Christophe paced, trying to gather himself and wanting, needing, to smoke, God he wanted a cigarette so badly, he was twitching as if he was going through withdrawal. He felt Kyle’s eyes on him but he didn’t look in his direction, not once. He flailed his arms and tugged at his hair and randomly let out a curse, his feet not ceasing with their movements as he tried to pace a trench into the floor, until eventually he walked to one of the remaining chairs and slumped into it, feeling incredibly tired.

There was a beat, and then Kyle approached him slowly and took a seat next to him. Christophe leaned his head against the wall and just looked up at the ceiling as if in prayer; anyone who knew him would know better. Where was he supposed to even  _begin_  sorting through their conversation, when everything was a blur of rage and confusion and hurt? He didn’t know where he stood anymore; he knew he was terribly furious with Gregory, but with  _Kyle_ —

God. He didn’t want to be mad at Kyle. He’d been…  _content_ , at peace, for the longest time since he’d met him too, and being mad at him  _hurt_. Christophe was beginning to think that Kyle meant more to him than he could ever have the courage to admit right now, and having this thrown at his face was just—

He clenched his hands, glaring up unseeingly at the ceiling. He’d trusted Kyle and now he was in a position where he didn’t know if he  _could_ , and that tore him up more severely than he ever expected was possible because  _fuck_ , Kyle sounded so  _sincere_. He wanted to keep him; he wanted Kyle as exclusively as his. But then he went and said something stupid like a  _threesome_  and that meant  _sharing_  and was Christophe not  _good enough_? Was he not good enough? He ground his teeth together, closing his eyes and releasing a ragged breath, his chest feeling crushed. Fuck.

“’Tophe…”

He didn’t acknowledge the call, but he did stiffen when he felt a hand on his forearm again. He opened his eyes and dropped his head to glare. His breath hitched at the sight of the Jew’s face; stupid faggot God, why did He  _hate him so_? Kyle looked at him with such tenderness that it felt like a punch in the gut. Christophe was sure to weed out any sign of pity and was relieved to find none, and yet still his jaw locked tight as his body became a statue beneath his touch. Even now, when he was doubting everything, he wanted nothing more than to bridge the gap between them and kiss him again. He wanted Kyle to be  _his_ ; he’d thought that he  _was_  his. God, he didn’t know what he’d do if he suddenly couldn’t  _touch him anymore_ —

“’Tophe…” he murmured again, gentle. His lips twisted slightly and Christophe didn’t know whether it was a grimace or a remorseful smile. “I’m sorry,” he said again. He leaned forward, just a little, the air intimate between them as if they were exchanging secrets despite them being the only two people in the room. “I was just—” he closed his eyes briefly, as if tortured, and sighed—“being stupid. Forget what I said, okay? It was completely inappropriate for the situation and was— _is not_  my main priority right now.” His voice became firm then and he made sure to keep Christophe’s gaze. “I like you.”

Christophe didn’t think it was fair. How was he supposed to deny his feelings when he sounded so earnest, when he himself was so desperate for it to be true? Even now Kyle was looking at him with that same look he’d worn whenever he said those words before: sincerity, vulnerability, tenderness, affection, hope. No one had ever looked at him like that—Kyle was the first.

And yet…

Was he really?

Hadn’t he also seen a similar look from Gregory before, however rare they might have been?

(There was one time when he’d nearly died and Gregory had nursed him back to health; Christophe had thought he was being delirious, and perhaps the blonde thought so too as well for his guards to be down like they were as he watched over him and changed his bandages.)

(There was another time when they’d just had sex and he thought Christophe was sleeping, but he’d felt the brush of a gentle hand against his forehead, fleeting and perhaps imaginary, although when the Frenchman had peeked at him from beneath his lashes, Gregory’s eyes had been soft before they turned aloof again at his awakeness.)

(There were other times when it was just a smile, a small upturn of his lips that shouldn’t have been anything special, but they were because it was sincere and aimed solely at him when he thought he wasn’t looking; Christophe had always thought they were a trick of the light.)

Kyle’s hand dropped from his arm to touch his fingertips lightly to his wrist—a silent question.

Christophe didn’t answer straight away; he turned to stare at the opposite wall, the silence dense between them.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Kyle waited patiently and Christophe sighed.

“Even eef you say so, I can’t just fucking forget eet.”

The Jew stiffened and withdrew his hand; although Christophe wanted so badly to snatch it up again, he refrained from doing so. “… Okay,” Kyle said, watching him carefully, although the Frenchman also kept his gaze resolutely forward. “Okay.”

He knew Kyle wanted to ask questions, wanted to say more, and he was actually rather surprised that he was restraining himself so. He was exercising quite a bit of patience and Christophe would have laughed in any other situation. Instead, he let out another weary sigh and slumped in his chair, shoving his hands into his pockets.

A beat passed, and then he said gruffly, “Tell me.”

“Huh?”

“Tell me,” his eyes were trained stubbornly at the wall, “why ze thought of a fucking threesome even crossed your mind at all.”

Because, if he pushed through all the jealousy and self-doubt and anger, he knew that Kyle was genuine in his affections. He wouldn’t  _lie_ , not about having feelings for him, if for nothing else but his pride that he wouldn’t let himself be in an unsatisfying relationship. Christophe didn’t know why Kyle liked him in the first place, really, but he trusted that the Jew knew his own feelings. So. For his sake, at least, he’d hear him out. He’d try.

Kyle was surprised, for his part. “Really?” he asked cautiously. “We really don’t need to talk about it. I said to forget it, it’s dumb—”

“Non,” Christophe interrupted, a little sharply. He tossed the Jew an irritated glare and then looked away again. “You dug ze fucking hole. Now talk.”

He heard the other take a deep breath. “… Alright.” When Kyle reached out and suddenly took his hand in his, holding tightly, Christophe didn’t have the heart to pull away. “Just... listen all the way through, okay? You don't need to do or say anything after, you  _don't_ , but just... just listen,” he said, softly.

So Kyle talked, his words honest and unfiltered, and Christophe kept quiet throughout it all and just listened. Neither of them really noticed when their grips became tighter, and if they did they didn’t mention it. The words that Kyle spoke were not easy, not for either of them, but they were earnest and true and tentative and pure. At times, Christophe wanted to laugh at how romantic the Jew’s sentiments really were; at other times, he wanted to cry. His face, however, remained stony throughout it all.

Before Kyle came, he and Gregory were content to live a life of silence without ever addressing anything related to  _emotions_  between them. They lived a strictly professional life together—even when they fucked, it was only to achieve release, to satisfy a base need they both had, primal and insignificant—a means to an end. It was taboo to want anything more, to  _notice_  anything more, to  _have_ anything more, to think it could ever  _be_  more. There was a line between them, an invisible wall, and neither party had the incentive to breach it.

But then Kyle—

He came into their lives without knowing the rules. He saw things, saw  _them_ , and just—

God.

Was this punishment for letting someone close enough to actually see the bullshit? Even more, for that someone to have the balls to call them out on it?

It was infuriating.

Why couldn’t Kyle just be selfish and let it die?

Their joined hands were locked in a death grip and Kyle, while nervous, was determined and steadfast. Christophe would not forgive him so soon, and he wouldn’t be forgiving Gregory for a much longer time, but that night, the seed had been planted.

Was it really okay to have both?

Did he have it in him to share?

He didn’t know.

* * *

 

At first, their 'game' had bothered him.

Kyle had told him about it so that he wouldn't be caught unawares, and while it wasn't exactly a _warning_ , it was close to it. The redhead was well aware of how difficult it was for Christophe to witness he and Gregory being even remotely intimate with each other, but the Frenchman begrudgingly agreed that it was necessary. He had already been scolded quite a bit in the past about his possessive behaviour; he knew it wasn't fair that he was able to touch the both of them but was hostile to the idea of them touching each other. He knew it wasn't right, knew that Kyle wouldn't stand for it—and honestly, Christophe wouldn't want to inflict such pain on him either.

He knew very well what it felt like to be the third-wheel. He never wanted Kyle to feel that way.

(Gregory was less sensitive to things like that, so he didn't worry about him too often.)

So he had sucked it up and tried to accept it, for their sake's.

He tolerated their antics and tried to leave them be. He gave them privacy to _bond_ , because he hated the twisted feeling in his chest when he witnessed them getting closer. Soon enough, he became moody and reclused. He didn't think he'd be noticed, knowing that with him out of the way, they'd be able to achieve the closeness they sought after (they very well couldn't do so with Christophe always there breathing down their backs and spoiling the mood with his scowls and glares).

But apparently, the two had other ideas.

Christophe was a surprising recipient of their attempts to woo each other. When Kyle had given Gregory that bouquet of flowers, he had also snuck into his room that night and given him a red rose. Gregory had even gifted him dark chocolate from Belgium; the blonde never gave him _presents_ before. They didn't ignore him completely, which Christophe had been expecting and preparing for, and instead, they... 

Well, they acted more-or-less normal. They never let him feel left out; whenever he was in the same room as them, Kyle would look at him with bright eyes and Gregory would smile at him (Gregory's smiles were softer now, even though it wasn't noticeable to an outsider, perhaps not even to Kyle; Christophe had known him for far longer, enough to notice the change). They never ignored his presence or acted as if he was a burden or that he was interrupting something of theirs alone; they simply pulled him into their conversation as seamlessly as a silk ribbon, as if he wasn't an intruder. Christophe was oddly comforted by that; his greatest fear was that he'd be forgotten in the sidelines.

Still, despite their best efforts, sometimes they lost themselves in each other. If they were flirting when he entered the room, sometimes they'd be too engaged to notice him straight away. At first, it had caused the brunette to slink back into his room to brood, but more and more often he was inclined to stay and watch, steadily becoming increasingly transfixed (however grudgingly) by their exchange. They were... rather gorgeous together.

The way they flirted was with sharp and quick words, with heated eyes that focused completely on each other. They were lively, animated, brimming with barely contained fiery energy that they shot back and forth and only grew in intensity. It was fascinating to watch. It had always been interesting to watch, but there was a deeper level now, a sort of seduction in the way they spoke that wasn’t apparent before. One time, Christophe had caught them whispering intimately to each other late in the night on the couch, the television quiet background noise as it bathed them in soft, dancing light, and he didn’t have the heart to interrupt them or the desire to leave. The flush in their cheeks was beautiful, the spark in their eyes breathtaking, the tension static.

Instead of being bitter and wanting to split them up, Christophe had wanted to join them.

And he _could_ join them, which Christophe was surprised to realise.

He thought it was a game played only between the two of them, but he learned soon enough that neither had any inclinations of the sort.

When all three of them were together, sometimes Kyle and Gregory would engage in subtle flirts and light touches; but one of them would always be touching Christophe too, pulling him into their magnetic orbit and engaging him in their conversation with a naturalness and ease that the brunette wondered why he’d ever feared it would be otherwise. They never ignored him, not intentionally; whenever he was in proximity, their eyes would snap towards him, watching, welcome,  _wanting_ —

He wouldn’t lie to himself. Having both of their gazes on him in such a way was breathtaking. Empowering. It eased his insecurities and it made him curious, excited. He knew what each of them individually tasted like, but having them _together_ —

It was a fantasy he’d had for longer than he’d like to admit.

He watched with hooded eyes as Kyle and Gregory shared a soft, intimate kiss on the couch, his own head resting against the Jew’s shoulder. He felt a surge of jealousy and possessiveness in his chest, but he was more successful in shoving it down than he’d been before. Instead of glaring, he just closed his eyes and kissed Kyle’s collarbone, delighting in the way the redhead shivered beneath his lips.

He wasn’t perfectly okay with sharing just yet.

But he was getting there.

* * *

 

_(Much, much, much later, Gregory will ask Kyle, “Why did you want to try for a polyamorous relationship, truly?”_

_And Kyle will stand there and his gaze will be gentle as he looks at them both, standing side by side in the warm light of the kitchen. He will smile and he will answer, “Because you two look beautiful together.”_

_Short, simple, sincere._

_Then he’ll laugh, quietly. “I couldn’t imagine you apart. But I was selfish and wanted to be a part of it too. I didn’t want to let go.”_

_And then Gregory and Christophe will look at each other once before stepping forward to each grab one of Kyle’s hands. “Idiot,” Christophe will say, in that same rough tone that didn’t know how to be properly gentle._

_“Agreed,” Gregory will say and with his free hand, he’ll reach out and gently tuck a red curl behind Kyle’s ear. “There is no_ us two _. You are just as beautiful, with us.” His eyes will gleam. “You don’t know how beautiful you are when I watch you with Christophe.”_

_“… And with Gregory,” the Frenchman will grunt reluctantly, but it will be honest._

_And their answers will make Kyle laugh, will make him flush. “That’s fucking hypocritical; you just_ said _—”_

_But whatever he would have said will be swallowed by the Frenchman’s kiss—he’d always been more effective with action rather than words. Gregory will chuckle and stroke Kyle’s knuckles as he watches them with a contented smile._

_The truth unsaid was obvious: they were the most beautiful when it was all three of them together._

_They knew it, but it never hurt to be reminded.)_

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: the chapter that changed this story's rating finally.
> 
> Heavy smut, most (all) of which are in the third scene with Christophe and Gregory. We're getting there, folks B) Prior to that is your usual fluff mwahaha.

“Ah, _fuck_ ,” the redhead murmured when they finally tore apart for air, breaths equally heavy and shallow between them. “If I’d known that all I had to do to shut you up was to kiss you, I would’ve started doing it ages ago.”

Gregory couldn’t actually see the smirk since their faces were so close together, but he could clearly imagine it just with the tone of Kyle’s voice. “Alas, your mouth was too preoccupied with a particular Frenchman’s to even humour the thought,” the blonde riposted, gaze half-lidded and wanting. “… Or had it? How long have you really entertained the idea, Kyle?” Emerald-green eyes narrowed at his words and he goaded further, thoroughly amused and unafraid, “We had two months to ourselves before you even re-acquainted yourself with Christophe. I have no doubt that you at least—”

The “shut the fuck up already” was implicit; Gregory was not in the least bit surprised when the Jew surged forward and practiced exactly what he’d just stated, hotly clamping his mouth over his and sealing away his words (if only temporarily). He grinned crookedly into the kiss, resisting the urge to laugh and instead closing his eyes and letting Kyle do as he wished. The redhead was pushing him against the backseat of the couch, a hand firm on his shoulder to both steady himself and to keep Gregory in place. The blonde let him, curious to see where this was heading—he hadn’t quite expected their argument on the ethics of capital punishment to lead up to _this_ , not that Gregory was complaining—and all too aware of the prickling sensation beneath the surface of his skin that felt a lot like anticipation and desire. It took all of his self-control to not try and fight Kyle’s dominance, to keep his arms lax by his sides, when half of him just wanted to throw the redhead down onto the couch and ruin him.

Gregory may be a patient man for the most part, but Kyle was a _tease_ if there ever was one, even if he didn’t realise it himself. They’d been doing this for _months_ , kissing and touching with the rare, shy frotting, but not even _once_ had his hands ventured beneath the other’s belt and slipped into his pants. Gregory may not have indulging in the pleasures of the flesh as one of his highest priorities but goddamn—the need to undress the Jew completely and thoroughly debauch him was getting stronger day by day the longer he was denied.

He wasn’t the only one eager for more, he knew. It was apparent when Kyle, without any prompting on his part, finally slid his leg over Gregory’s to straddle his waist; the blonde had to bite down a groan when his knee lightly brushed against the growing bulge in his pants, and Kyle _had_ to know what he was doing—not even he could be that naïve. Hands moved to stroke his chest, fingers hot even through the buttoned dress shirt that he wore. Gregory’s own hands found Kyle’s waist, light but present enough to let the other know that they were there. When the Jew let his weight drop more heavily onto his lap, Gregory let out a small, quiet noise that Kyle immediately ate up as if he was starving, thumbs unconsciously pressing into his hipbone.

 _Fuck_ , the Jew could kiss. Gregory was coaxed out of his passivity in no time at all and suddenly there were hands in his silken golden hair, tight and keeping them close as their mouths battled against each other, their contest of wits in a physical form. Gregory inwardly cheered when he managed to wrestle Kyle’s defiant tongue into his own mouth, lightly clamping his lips around the appendage and beginning to _suck_ , thoroughly enjoying the surprised, helpless mewl that emitted from the redhead. It was open-mouthed and messy and saliva dribbled down Kyle’s chin because he couldn’t properly swallow, and Gregory _knew_ he couldn’t, God he wanted to pull back to see it right now but he was becoming addicted to the hinted taste of citrus and coffee, to the soft gasps and helpless groans that blessed his ears as they tried to breathe around their entangled tongues. Instead of trying to fight for his freedom, however, Kyle surprised _him_ by pushing closer and rising up on his knees a little, forcing Gregory’s head back on the couch as hands clamped his face; it was Gregory’s turn to make an unbidden, strangled, astonished sound in the back of his throat as Kyle dared to push his tongue _deeper_ instead, not pulling away at all but diving, dipping, _thrusting_ —

And yes, Kyle Broflovski called his raise; he was indeed _fucking_ his mouth with his _tongue_.

Gregory’s hands were no longer gentle as they gripped the other’s waist, pressing hard enough to bruise. Kyle rubbed himself against his stomach, jerkily thrusting in time with his tongue, and fuck, _fuck_ , it felt so _good_ to be beneath him, to let himself be used like this with hands fisted in his hair to keep him in place, and he was so hard, beginning to strain in his jeans—

If he were a blushing teenager fresh to the throes of hormones, he might have came just from this.

Fortunately for him, he had ample control of himself and Kyle, reaching his limit prior to actually suffocating them both, finally withdrew with a wet pop, their tongues still on display and a thick sheen of saliva between them. His eyes were blown, impossibly dark with a thin circle of green around his dilated pupils, and the sight of him all flushed and openly wanton was utterly _sinful_. He reached up and wiped away the saliva from his chin, not looking away from Gregory’s face, just watching. Gregory mustn’t have looked too different, not daring to even blink as he tried to catch his own breath. He reached up and cleaned up his own excess saliva with his sleeve, managing to smirk as he did, sultry and bemused.

“My, my,” he said, and his voice was slightly hoarse. His tongue felt a little swollen. “If I was a virgin, you would have stolen it just with a kiss. Who knew you could be so filthy?”

The blush was beautiful on the other’s pale cheeks. Kyle peered at him with half-lidded eyes and he smiled lopsidedly, sitting down again on his lap; Gregory let out a quiet hiss as their clothed erections brushed together with the movement, an action that didn’t escape the Jew if the darkening of his eyes was anything to go by. “You really do like hearing yourself talk,” he mused aloud, voice equally as raspy; Gregory couldn’t help but secretly smile at that. Kyle leaned forward and kissed his jaw, his panting breath hot on his skin as he leisurely grinded his hips against his in firm, slow strokes. “Mmm,” he hummed softly, lips lazily exploring the underside of his jaw and further back until he was nipping at his earlobe. Gregory shivered, clenching his hands on his waist and helping Kyle’s thrusts, suddenly sharply frustrated with the presence of their clothes—“Fuck… _Gregory_ …”

Kyle’s head fell until his forehead rested on his shoulder, one arm encircling him and holding him close while the other hand teasingly crept down the blonde’s chest, fingers light against his shirt. Gregory let out an uncharacteristic grunt, his dick twitching impatiently in its confines. He must have communicated the sentiment somehow (or maybe it was the grunt) because Kyle laughed breathily and kissed his neck, more teeth than innocent lips.

“I want to fuck you,” Gregory suddenly said; he felt Kyle shiver against him. He made an abrupt, hard thrust upwards that caused the redhead to gasp sharply. “You’ll let me, won’t you?”

The other made an uncommitted noise in the back of his throat but Gregory could _feel_ the smile against his neck. “Perhaps,” he said and his breath tickled pleasantly. The wandering hand continued its downward journey agonisingly slow.

“Perhaps?” the blonde echoed, bemused despite his racing heart. He slipped a hand beneath Kyle’s shirt, the redhead arching into his touch like a cat. “You’ll be depriving us both if it’s the contrary, which would be such a pity.”

Teeth suddenly clamped down on his ear and Gregory jerked forward, surprised, but relaxed soon enough when the ache was smoothed over with a wet, velvet tongue. “You can fuck me,” Kyle said lowly into his ear, his words like a ghost’s touch, “but only after I fuck you first.”

Gregory laughed, this argument old and fond. He gripped his waist firmer and thrusted upwards again, hard and brutal, keeping Kyle in place even when he tried to grind down. The frustrated growls were like music to his ears and seeing the other’s glaring eyes when he pulled back was even more thrilling. “My dear, you seem to be the only one fixated on the order,” he stated lightly, watching as Kyle panted. “In the end, it’s the same—” he made another hard thrust that had Kyle unintentionally groaning aloud; Gregory smiled charmingly despite the lust in his eyes—“we get to fuck each other.”

“Then,” Kyle began, sounding a little breathless, “if it’s all the same to you…” He suddenly grinned, a devious expression befalling his face if there ever was one, and cupped the bulge in Gregory’s pants. The man beneath him hissed when the hand squeezed. “Thanks for not minding. I’ll be gentle.”

Okay, so he kind of backed himself up into that one, but no one could really blame him. Gregory was a bit preoccupied trying to get them to talk _less_ and do the subject of discussion _more_. Kyle thought _he_ was chatty but obviously it was a simple case of the pot calling the kettle back. Instead of verbally reprimanding him (which would have undoubtedly led to a verbal retort; it was a vicious cycle, with the two of them), Gregory cradled the back of Kyle’s head and pulled him back in again for a kiss. It was just as hungry as the ones before, loud and wet and absolutely filthy— _God_ , yes, Kyle in bed _would_ be loud—and perhaps it was a testament to how tightly-wound Gregory was when he didn’t immediately hear the door opening and the scuffling of feet padding into the room.

Kyle was the first to break away, which was instantly displeasing. If he couldn’t occupy his mouth, however, Gregory happily latched onto his neck, sucking and biting and enjoying how the Jew squirmed in his arms. He didn’t quite know if it was because he wanted to move away or because he wanted to create more friction between them, but either way Gregory responded by tightening his hold on him and lavishing open-mouthed kisses on his neck and collarbone. He must be looking over his shoulder at something— _someone_ —and it was the song and dance of a familiar routine that Gregory was steadily becoming more intolerant of.

As he stubbornly kept his focus on Kyle, he heard the redhead ask breathlessly, “’T-Tophe? Do you…”

“Non,” came an all-too familiar gruff voice, a distance behind him. “Just wanted to get some water.” Kyle was holding his shoulders, out-of-sight from the Frenchman due to the backseat of the couch, so only Gregory was privy to the knowledge of how he gripped him not because of lust but due to something weaker. “You continue whatever eet eez you two are doing. Do not let me ruin ze fun.”

Gregory could just imagine the sardonic smirk on his slightly tanned face; he could picture the heavy-handed arch of his thick eyebrow and how he would raise his drink up into the air in a mock toast. The sound of footsteps fading away from them was in time with Gregory’s mental predictions, and the quiet, “Okay…” from the redhead on top of him was lost to everyone but his own ears.

Irritation sparked through him like glowing coal and he bit at Kyle’s neck harshly, earning him a hiss and an indignant, “Hey!”

“You heard the man,” Gregory said mildly, not letting his arms fall away even when Kyle pulled back to glare at him. “He doesn’t want to ruin the fun, so I say we oblige him and continue.”

But Kyle’s expression spoke it all and he knew already that the battle was lost; still, Gregory never claimed to be a gracious loser. “I… We can’t…” came the redhead’s meek protest, the conflict and frustration clear in emerald-green eyes. Gregory _knew_ that Kyle was just as malcontent and as wanting as he was, but he had extra cause for irritation because it was Kyle’s _compassion_ that facilitated Christophe’s cock-blocking ways.

“Why not?” the blonde asked, making sure that his voice remained that octave lower. He pulled Kyle down and kissed him again, slow and sensual and _promising—_ he’d make him feel _so good_ , so good, if only Kyle would _let him._ The response was eager nearly instantly and Gregory swallowed the quiet moan that escaped the other’s throat. But just when it was becoming deliciously heated again, the Jew sharply pulled back and was shaking his head, his hands flat on Gregory’s chest.

“No,” he rasped, his lips twisted unhappily. He wasn’t looking at Gregory; he was glaring at something beside his head, irritated eyes attempting to drill holes into the couch. “I don’t want to.”

The lie was as obvious as their erections pressed snugly together. “Don’t want to, or just too chicken?” Gregory asked, doing well to keep the incredulousness out of his voice (Kyle could lie better than _that_ ) but was not as successful with keeping out the sharpness.

It was a mistake. Kyle glared at him, lips a thin line. “We promised we—we wouldn’t get to that point without him.” His face still blushed, such a pretty shade of red, but Kyle kept their gazes locked regardless. (And regardless too, Gregory appreciated that look on him.)

“How many times do I have to tell you not to _baby_ him?” The exasperation was clear. “I know what we said, but in hindsight perhaps we put too much faith in him too soon. The so-called ‘promise’ feels like a _leash_ and he’s far less inclined to let us loose now that he knows he has the power to stop _any_ progress.”

“’Tophe wouldn’t do that,” Kyle rebuked, gaze narrowing. He sat back, hands on Gregory’s shoulders, but didn’t slide off him just yet.

“Wouldn’t he?” Gregory quipped, quirking an eyebrow. “Pray tell, exactly what has he been doing for the last couple of months then?”

“It’s not all about sex, you know,” he said sharply, poking him in the centre of his chest—he didn’t flinch. “It’s about mutual trust and understanding and we will _wait_ for him when he’s _ready_ , not a moment _sooner—_ ”

“Your sentiments are perfectly reasonable—for any other situation. But this is _Christophe_ we’re talking about, and while you would _like_ to participate in a healthy polyamorous relationship, I’m afraid that what you’re doing is counterintuitive. If given a choice, he _will_ act like a petulant child.” He remained unaffected by Kyle’s steadily more dangerous look, eyes narrowed in the way it always did when he felt defencive over his friends. “I’m not saying that he’d never accept it, but to accept it he must first _think_ about it and I’m very, very sure that thinking about it is what he’s _avoiding_.”

“What are you saying, Gregory?” Kyle demanded flatly.

“Christophe _has_ to think about it, but you pacifying him all the time tells him it’s okay that he doesn’t.”

It was at that point that Kyle _did_ slide off of him and Gregory didn’t put up a fight; their arousals were sharply dying down in the wake of this sunshine of an argument. Kyle moved so that he was sitting on the other end of the couch, more distance between them than there had been when they first sat down. “That’s stupid,” the Jew snorted, crossing his arms. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh?” Gregory tried to keep his growing irritation from his tone, instead turned so that he gave the other his full attention, daring him.

“He _has_ been thinking about it,” Kyle rebuked, stepping up to the challenge with fire in his eyes. He jutted his chin up reproachfully. “And I don’t know what kind of psycho-analytic bullshit you’ve invested in, but it has less to with the flaws of his character and more on the fact that _he’s just not ready_. Jesus Christ, Gregory. Please try to remember sometimes that we’re only human and that it’s not as easy for him.”

Gregory’s left eye twitched minutely. He was growing to hate being identified with that sort of sentimentality. Sure, he knew he had problems with his arrogance and occasional lack of compassion, but he never actually viewed Christophe, or Kyle for that matter, as _soldiers_ or _tools_ ; he’d never thought himself a god. “You don’t know Christophe as well as I do,” he said, and if Kyle grimaced he ignored it. “He _broods_ and he _wallows_ and he drowns himself in excess, and while your compassion and gentleness is admirable at times, sometimes that isn’t what he needs.”

Kyle abruptly stood up, green eyes hard and angry. “And you are perfectly entitled to your opinion,” he said coldly. “But in the end, it’s all the same: _he_ chooses when he’s ready, and I for one don’t wish to hurt him. Frankly, I’m having second thoughts about whether I even _want_ to touch you anymore.”

“If that’s the case, then wouldn’t that be a problem solved?” Gregory called, smiling without any warmth. Despite the biting heat in those words, he knew they were just air. Kyle had an unfortunate tendency to be cruel when he was angry and said things that were untrue. (If he was still stung, however minutely, he didn’t acknowledge it.) “Christophe would be happy to hear that.”

The redhead dragged a hand through his curls in frustration, his expression pinched. “I didn’t—oh, what the hell. Just screw it. We’ve already talked about this.” He gave him one final flat look before he turned and started walking away.

“Where are you going?” Gregory couldn’t help but ask, watching as the Jew retreated into the hallway.

“Shower,” he responded over his shoulder, not looking back. “And then bed. Good _night_.”

Well. He must _really_ be tired (or sick of this merry-go-round) if he retreated from an argument just like that, although Gregory couldn’t blame him. He didn’t let his gaze slide away until he disappeared into the bathroom door, and then the blonde allowed a heavy sigh and reached up to rub small circles at his temple. No doubt Kyle would talk to Christophe tonight, reassurances and soothing words ready like honey on his lips to lull the Frenchman into coddling security. He rolled his eyes.

Despite what Kyle said, this was getting ridiculous. They were all grown men and Christophe was acting like a brooding teenager over this. He had said _yes_ to this relationship, hadn’t he? So what was all this one step forward, two steps back bullshit? He either wanted it or he didn’t, and Gregory knew him well enough to know that _he_ _wanted it_ —which was why this whole thing was just plain lunacy to him.

Kyle could wait to a certain extent, but he would _snap_ and the fallout would be ugly. Gregory could also wait, but not in these conditions—not when Christophe was making _all three_ of them suffer with his pansying about. Gregory stood for efficiency and effectiveness in all things he did, and frankly this bullshit was wasting everyone’s time. He was sick of it.

He was sick of all this tension when their team should _really_ be a well-oiled, flawless machine.

(He hated to see them so unhappy. Well, perhaps _unhappy_ was too strong a word, but they were definitely subpar of satisfaction. Let no one say Gregory didn’t have their best interests always at heart.)

He’d let Kyle try his way for a little while longer.

But then it was Gregory’s turn.

* * *

 It was the same night when he heard a knocking on his door. The sound surprised him and he briefly checked the time. It was a little past midnight and he wondered absently if Christophe had come over to fuck. But he’d never knock like that and he’d have ploughed his way into his room by now, regardless if he’d even answered, and so the lack of a hulking Frenchman in his room only reinforced what Gregory had hunched at the second he heard the sound.

“Come in,” he called, spinning around on his desk chair to watch as his door opened and in timidly entered their resident redhead. He straightened his back and arched a brow in question. “Yes, Kyle?”

They hadn’t spoken since their little spat on the couch a mere few hours ago. Since Kyle’s grudges usually lasted more than twelve hours at the very least, Kyle approaching him now was rather unexpected. Much less in his _room_. Gregory could probably count on one hand the number of times he’d been in here, despite them living together for almost half a year.

He wondered if there was something wrong.

The Jew did well not to squirm under Gregory’s piercing stare, but he could tell that the redhead was nervous about something. He was wearing his sleeping clothes, a worn, comfy-looking ACDC shirt and long pants. “So I just finished talking with ‘Tophe,” he said finally, his body stiff.

Gregory minutely relaxed. Ah. So this was a domestic issue; he’d thought it was something a bit more dire, like having to do with the recent case they’d taken on. “Right,” the blonde said slowly. “And so you’ve come here to give me a report on how your conversation went? I see you’ve placated him enough that he’s allowed you to leave him briefly to come talk with me.” It was too late in the day; he couldn’t be arsed to hide the mockery even if he wanted to.

As predicted, Kyle’s eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips together. “He doesn’t _allow_ me to do anything,” he said tightly.

Gregory knew that he knew that wasn’t the truth at all—being in a relationship, much less a polyamorous one, did that. “What do you want, Kyle,” Gregory just said, leaning back in his chair.

Kyle didn’t seem to agree with his tone. “I can just go, if this is a bad time,” he responded stiffly, glancing at the open laptop at his desk. “You’re busy.”

“Just finishing up, actually. What do you want?”

But Kyle was already shaking his head and stepping backwards to the door. Gregory wondered at the flush in his cheeks. “No, it’s alright. I shouldn’t have come.”

“But you have, so stay.” He kept his hands on his thighs, his posture open and non-hostile. Making his tone a tad more gentle, he said, “Just out with it, Kyle.”

He was curious, even more so when Kyle avoided his gaze and continued to stand there awkwardly, that rosy tint to his cheeks. “I, um,” he started, and he had to clear his throat because the words came out a little strangled. “I wanted to ask if I could sleep with you.”

Gregory slowly blinked.

“N-Not like _that_ , just actually _sleep_ ,” the Jew hastened to add, but when he met the other’s eyes he was quickly looking away again, shifting nervously on his feet. “You’re free to say no. I don’t even know if you like bed partners—um. As in, sleeping partners— _having company while you sleep_.” He scratched the back of his head, blushing furiously now. “Sorry, I’ll just go…”

“Wait.” Miraculously, the order was obeyed. “Explain.”

Kyle made a frustrated sound, his brow creasing. He still didn’t look at him. “If I have to, I’d rather just walk out right now,” he admitted curtly. “Good ni—”

“I thought you’d be sleeping with Christophe,” Gregory interrupted; the last thing he wanted was Kyle leaving _now_. This was very interesting.

“Well, I was going to…” Kyle started. Finally, he seemed to steel himself and he looked at Gregory directly. “But then I started to feel bad—for what I said to you earlier.  I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.” Despite his obvious discomfort, there was sincerity there. “And I didn’t want you to think that if I stayed with him, I was choosing him over you.”

At that, Gregory couldn’t help but quirk his eyebrow. “Don’t you?” If that had been truthful, it would’ve been news to him; he’d long ago accepted the fact that as far as this three-way relationship was concerned, _he_ was the one who had to work into _their_ good graces. It was a reality he was perfectly aware of and while it bruised his ego somewhat (and made him secretly bitter at rare, weak moments), he was a mature, grown man. He did feel a spark of irritation though. “Kyle, you don’t need to lie to appease _my_ feelings—”

“Shut up,” Kyle snapped, unexpectedly heated. “I said I wasn’t going to explain myself, didn’t I? So can I sleep here or not?”

He was standing in that way of his that practically _oozed_ stubbornness. Gregory regarded him for a brief, silent moment before he curtly nodded, his own eyes wary. “… Alright.” He gestured to his bed, the sheets and duvet smoothed over like he hadn’t used it ever. “Make yourself comfortable. I’m going to finish up.”

He spun on his chair again and focused on his laptop. As he read over the documents, however, he was still very keenly aware of what the other occupant in the room was doing. Before he’d turned away from him, he’d caught the look of surprise on the Jew’s face at his admission and honestly, he couldn’t say that he was alone with it. The air in the room was thick with a tension that was all mental, shared between them and their undoubtedly running thoughts. The silence only facilitated the sound of the mattress creaking when Kyle climbed into it; even as Gregory’s eyes read through the words, the sound of shifting sheets as the other buried himself beneath it was nearly deafening. He lasted only a painstaking five minutes before he realised that his curiosity wasn’t going to allow him to work anymore (it wasn’t urgent business, anyway), and he was just beginning to save all  his documents when he heard Kyle speak from behind him.

“Are you nearly done?”

There was a small waver in his voice, buried beneath a false bravado. It was only because of Gregory’s keen senses of perception that he picked it up at all.

He allowed a smirk to grace his face before he looked over his shoulder. However, he was completely unprepared for how _adorable_ the sight of Kyle on his bed actually looked, with only his head peeking out from the thick duvet. Despite his obvious nerves, he actually looked rather cosy. Gregory’s mouth went a little dry as his heart skipped a beat; his smile turned a bit more genuine than he intended. “Why?” he asked mildly. “Eager for me to join you?”

“You wish,” was the Jew’s immediate retort, and he looked so pretty there with his blushing cheeks and flaming red hair a wild mess on his pillow. “I just can’t sleep with the light on.”

“No need to be so demure,” Gregory teased and he had to look away lest he became transfixed with Kyle’s glaring eyes. He was momentarily blind to the laptop screen in front of him, noting absently his increased heartrate. He shut down his laptop in silence and, when he closed the lid, he stood up and began to strip.

“What are you doing?” Kyle immediately demanded, sounding scandalised and just a little panicked. If his voice was a pitch higher, no one would call him on it.

“What does it look like, Broflovski?” Gregory asked mockingly, tossing his shirt into the hamper. “I don’t sleep in my day clothes.” He got rid of his pants and did the same to them as the shirt, clad only in his boxers now. When he turned to look at his guest, he almost laughed at how red Kyle’s face was. He was gaping at him, eyes obviously checking him out, but when he realised he’d been caught staring Kyle immediately turned his face away, his cheeks tinting darker. Gregory shouldn’t have found his actions endearing. “Does this bother you?” Kyle had seen him in various degrees of undress countless times before—it came with being roommates and mercenaries together.

“No,” came the all too quick response.

“Christophe likes to sleep shirtless too.”

“I know,” came the predicted snap.

“Mhm.” He was thoroughly amused. “I’m turning off the lights now.” All he received was a grunt in response, to which Gregory slightly rolled his eyes, before he flicked the switch and his room was bathed in darkness.

The mercenary silently made his way over to his bed, his steps sure and steady. He climbed into the vacant side, his body easily sliding beneath the sheets. It was the only sound he heard or movement he felt for a quick second and he couldn’t help but suddenly chuckle. “Kyle, breathe,” he murmured into the darkness.

He liked to think it was because of his order and not because Kyle was on the verge of suffocating himself that he heard the deep, shuddering breath that followed his words. There was a shifting on the bed and Gregory knew that Kyle had turned on his side to face him. “Shut up,” the Jew said again, but there was amusement in his own voice now, a tiny laugh in the way he huffed. “Nervous.”

“Don’t be,” Gregory assured, staying still on his back. “You said you just wanted to sleep, remember?” He could feel the heat radiating from the other; his bed was only a double.

“I know what I said,” the familiar voice responded in the darkness. “It’s still just—new, you know. I’ve never slept in a bed with you before.”

Gregory only hummed.

They were silent for a while and if Gregory listened closely, he could hear Kyle’s soft breaths beside him. He wasn’t surprised when he began to speak again. “Is this weird for you?”

“Is it for you?” he returned just as quietly.

Another huff, sounding a little annoyed rather than amused this time. “Already said I was nervous.”

“You’re not nervous when you sleep with Christophe, I bet.”

“Gregory.”

The blonde sighed, knowing that he was being petty. “… It is a bit strange,” he confessed at last, staring up at the black ceiling. “The last time I shared a bed with anyone without the intention of sex was when I was in my mother’s bed, so many years ago.”

“Your parents are in Britain, yeah?” Kyle asked, his voice soft.

Gregory didn’t stiffen and he answered lightly, “Correct.”

There was a pause that he knew wouldn’t last. “Do you still speak with them?”

“Kyle,” Gregory admonished in a playful manner that wasn’t actually that playful at all. “I know that sharing a bed induces a feeling of intimacy, but that doesn’t change the fact that we do not speak of my parents. That part of my life is over now—has been for a long, long while.”

He didn’t like to think about them; it was the same for Christophe too. Suddenly, he wondered how much Kyle knew about the Frenchman’s own dysfunctional family—how many late night conversations did they have, just like this, in the sweet lull of darkness and intimate closeness?

“Sorry,” the redhead murmured, and the quick apology was a surprise to him. “You brought her up. And just… I realised I don’t know much about your past.”

“You never asked.”

“I have.” Perhaps not about his parents specifically before, but he has.

Gregory shifted until he was lying on his side as well, but with his back to Kyle. “Go to sleep, Kyle,” he murmured, shutting his eyes. It was a mistake. Even though there wasn’t much difference between the darkness of the room and the darkness behind his eyelids, he was still more acutely aware of the other’s presence behind him.

“Will you tell me one day?” the stubborn Jew asked.

“Perhaps.”

“I could always just do some snooping around on my own.”

Gregory’s lips quirked without his consent. “Aside from harassing Christophe, who obviously hasn’t told you anything, you wouldn’t dare.”

He heard a sniff which was all for show. “Well, just because _I_ have some concept of _privacy_ …”

“You’re funny. Really.” He needn’t explicitly remind him that he was a hacker for a living; it was in the dryness of his tone.

Kyle laughed and Gregory felt a tingle beneath his skin, swearing he felt his breath at the back of his neck. “Shut up,” he said, and the words were fond. He moved behind him, getting himself more comfortable.

They were enveloped in silence again, but this time it was oddly warm and easy. Gregory could feel himself relaxing—not the forced calm he had been instilling ever since Kyle had come into his room, but really relaxing. He suddenly felt tired, his limbs bone-weary, even though he hadn’t done anything particularly taxing lately. He carefully listened to the other’s breathing, soft and level, but not quite even enough to indicate sleep. It was strangely comforting. Kyle’s presence was a solid thing behind him, despite the fact that they weren’t touching; he was so used to an empty bed.

“… Kyle.”

“Hmm?” The hum of acknowledgement sounded a tad sleepy.

 “Why are you here?”

They were basked in a strange, lucid cloud that quietly encouraged honesty.

“Because I care about you,” Kyle whispered. “I want to be here.”

Gregory turned and faced him, but when he opened his eyes he could only make out vague shadows on Kyle’s face. It didn’t matter, though—he still stared. “Why aren’t you with Christrophe?” he asked gently, no accusation in his tone. He was just curious.

“I want to be with him too,” Kyle said, looking back at him. He huffed out a small laugh. “And I have been. But that’s... It’s unfair.”

“How so? If anything, wouldn’t you sleeping with me _now_ be unfair?” Again, no accusation. “Because it’s just that—sleeping. One of our rules was that we slept on separate beds unless we fucked, to show no favouritism until Christophe was ready.” One of Kyle’s rules; he was always so concerned about hurting their feelings. Gregory knew that if it weren’t for that agreement, the two would still be sharing a bed—like they had been before when they were exclusively together, just them two.

“Well, _we_ can’t fuck,” Kyle snorted. “So this is our alternative. ‘Tophe knows I’m here, anyway. I even invited him.”

“Surprised he didn’t come join us just to make sure we didn’t do anything he wouldn’t excessively approve of,” he responded wryly.

“Like I said, he’s just trying to get used to it. He didn’t feel like it tonight, but I made him promise that we’d all sleep together soon.”

“That’s a tight fit for all three of us—on _any_ of our beds.”

“Guess we need to invest in a bigger one then.” If Gregory was able to see, he was sure Kyle’s eyes would be gleaming.

He laughed quietly. “You really want this to work.”

“Of course I do.” There was heat in his voice, despite the murmur. “Don’t you?”

“…I do,” he answered, and he meant it. He wanted to reach out and touch Kyle now but he refrained from doing so. Kyle had come to _his_ bed; he wasn’t going to overstep any bounds if Kyle just wanted to sleep. (And chat, apparently.) “But it is a bit difficult, given who we are. We’re all quite stubborn.”

“Well,” the redhead began, grunting slightly, “no one ever claimed that trying to work a three-way relationship would be _easy_. We didn’t exactly have a stellar beginning either. At least it’s thrilling.”

“Thrilling? More like a disaster waiting to happen,” Gregory spoke and despite his words, he wasn’t spiteful—just weary and reluctantly amused. “It’s laughable, really. All three of us would have extreme difficulty trying to maintain an _ordinary_ , _conventional_ relationship, so it’s rather insane that we let you convince us to do something like this.”

“Hey. I resent that—‘Tophe and I were doing pretty well on our own, I think.”

Gregory stilled. “… You were.” His tone was unreadable.

He wished the lights were on so that he could see the other’s expression, because he could aptly pinpoint the moment Kyle realised what he’d said by the way he stiffened greatly. “… Well,” the Jew said slowly, carefully, “I still managed to screw it up, anyway. I mean, come on—that timing wasn’t exactly the greatest.”

“It couldn’t have been worse,” the blonde agreed.

There was a pregnant pause, the both of them just waiting for the sudden, dense tension to break. Then Kyle said timidly, “Um, can—where is your hand?”

Gregory blinked in the darkness. “Why?”

“Because I want to hold it, and I’d rather not grope for it in the dark because otherwise I might grab at something inappropriate.”

He sounded so _awkward_ and no doubt he was blushing again; Gregory briefly closed his eyes and despite himself, a reluctant smile tugged at his lips. This boy. He didn’t know why he indulged him so much, but he was already shifting and reaching out with his hand, not sure if Kyle could see it but already having a solution to that anyway. His vision was good enough to see the outline of Kyle’s face, so he simply placed his hand on the other’s cheek, his palm cool against the burning skin. Kyle jolted a little beneath him but otherwise didn’t retract; instead, Kyle’s own hand emerged from the blanket and grabbed his, pulling it away so that their hands fell between them instead, timidly joined together.

Their breaths were a bit louder now, or perhaps Gregory was just getting used to the silence. “If all this was because of pity, Broflovski…” the blonde started lowly.

“It’s not,” Kyle responded immediately, squeezing his hand. “Never.”

“I know.” They were talking about more than just tonight. “Otherwise, I never would have agreed to any of it.”

“It never was,” he assured again, lacing their fingers together. By now, the action was familiar—but even still, it didn’t fail to make something in Gregory’s chest tighten. “And I’m sorry if you even _thought_ that—”

“Kyle,” the other interrupted tiredly. “Just stop.” He didn’t need to be treated like he was fragile, because he wasn’t.

He didn’t.

“It just clicked for me and ‘Tophe,” Kyle was determined to continue. “And honestly—it would’ve clicked for you and me as well if you hadn’t been such an asshole in the beginning.”

Gregory could imagine the smirk. He relaxed. “I was nice.”

“That could be debated. But you were definitely hiding something, which immediately made me suspicious of you.”

“And you’re not now?”

“Suspicious? No. But you can still be an asshole sometimes.”

“It’s part of my charm.”

A snort, but no denial. There was a pause again until Kyle squeezed his fingers. “And you and ‘Tophe click, obviously,” he continued. “Just… there’s something stopping you two sometimes. What is it?”

Gregory closed his eyes and sighed. It wasn’t loud, but due to the quietness of the room and how close Kyle was, it was undoubtedly obvious. “That’s something Christophe and I need to work out ourselves, don’t you think?”

“I’m part of the relationship too.” A steadying breath. “I just… want to help.”

 _You already are_ , was Gregory’s immediate thought, and he was surprised himself with the truth in that silent confession.

He wasn’t able to say it aloud just yet however, so he said instead, “Don’t worry. We’ll work it out. We’re big boys—it’s really not that big of a deal.”

But Kyle wasn’t so sure. “But—”

“Kyle,” and this time, his tone was firm. He squeezed his fingers in a silent reprimand. “Sleep.”

“Gregory—”

“We’ve talked enough for tonight,” he cut in, not exactly gentle but not harsh either. “Go to sleep, otherwise I might not be so inclined to let you stay next time.”

“Hmph,” the Jew grunted, displeased but not letting go of his hand or moving away. “I might have not cared for that threat, but your bed is actually much better than mine and ‘Tophe’s both.”

“That’s because I invest in better beds than you two,” Gregory said flatly.

“Yeah, whatever.” Kyle seemed to snuggle into the bed just to prove a point, whatever it was.

“Sleep,” Gregory murmured again, smiling fondly because he knew Kyle wouldn’t be able to see it in the dark even if he had been looking. “Good night, Kyle.”

“… Yeah, g’night,” was the return whisper, accompanied by another squeeze of his hand.

They fell asleep soon enough, lulled by the warm, comforting silence, and when Gregory woke up in the morning, Kyle was still in his bed, dozing softly. He was in no hurry to untangle their limbs from each other and simply smiled, brushing some hair from Kyle’s face.

He hadn’t slept so well in a while.

* * *

It was precisely a week afterwards when a similar situation happened _again_ that Gregory’s patience all but snapped.

Which was saying something, because he was usually a really patient man who exhibited an admirable aptitude for self-control. He never usually ‘snapped’ but the situation had become deplorable enough that he could no longer justify tolerating it anymore. The longer they stayed like this, the more it would become _normal_ and Gregory had enough foresight to know that would only end badly.

So here he was, making his way across the hallway towards Christophe’s room. The hour was late and he’d seen Kyle retreat into his bedroom quite a while ago; he should be asleep by now. He knocked precisely once before he stormed into the dark room, shutting the door and not bothering to lock it.

He quickly opened the light, not surprised to see Christophe already awake with a knife in his hand. Once the Frenchman registered that it was Gregory in his room, he lowered the weapon but didn’t slide his glaring eyes away. He looked like he just woke up. “What ze fuck,” he stated flatly, the bedsheets already thrown off him in his halted process to leap onto his feet. “What are you doing here, Gregory.”

“Put the knife down,” Gregory said calmly, carefully watching the other. He knew the brunette was going to react this way to him just bursting into his room like that. Even though he was obviously just asleep, he was a very, very light sleeper, and in this adrenaline-boosted state of new awake-ness, Gregory knew better than to surprise him even more with a sudden approach.

It took a moment but Christophe did as he was told, placing the serrated knife on his bed stand. His eyes never left the blonde. As soon as the weapon was out of his hands however, Gregory strode forwards and knelt on the bed, leaning forward to grab the brunette’s face and kissing him. Christophe responded immediately, which Gregory always liked, and a second later he was being pulled closer by eager, rough hands, dragging him further into the bed.

“We’re going to fuck,” Gregory informed him without preamble once they split apart. Their breaths were mixing heavily between them, angry and already impatient.

Christophe’s answer was a grunt. He had his hands on Gregory’s waist and he tried to flip them over, but the blonde resisted. Instead, he pushed at Christophe’s shoulders until the brunette was lying flat on his back, the aggressive movement making the mattress bounce. He stared up at him with narrowed eyes and a quirked eyebrow. Gregory splayed his hands on Christophe’s bare chest, the skin hot beneath his palms. “Let me clarify,” he said lowly, leaning down so they were barely a breath’s apart, eyes locked on each other. “ _I’m_ going to be the one fucking _you_.”

The Frenchman’s expression twisted into one of displeasure. “Yeah right,” he snorted. He tried to sit up, but Gregory slammed him back down again, forcing the air out of Christophe’s lungs. He glared up at the blonde and growled, tensing his body to throw him off, but Gregory was ready for him and he bridged the gap between them to harshly claim his mouth, kissing him the way he knew Christophe loved—biting teeth, aggressive tongues, pinching lips.

There was a lot of anger in that kiss, an underlying intent to hurt. It was a usual for them, really—even though Gregory knew they were capable of something more, sometimes _did_ share something more. But now was not one of those times.

As they kissed, Gregory manoeuvred himself on top of the Frenchman, straddling his waist. With one final bite to the brunette’s bottom lip, he sat up and started to unbutton his dress shirt, never looking away all the while. He felt his heart speed up as it always did whenever Christophe watched him with such hungry eyes, darker than usual and nearly black. He licked his lips and had to catch the sardonic smirk when Christophe’s gaze flickered toward the movement. He removed his shirt and tossed it uncaringly away, grinding his hips downward.

Christophe let out a low groan, calloused hands immediately reaching up to caress the milky, smooth skin now exposed to him. Gregory let him, shivering slightly under the careless touch as they pinched and scratched at his flesh. He bent down and kissed at Christophe’s jaw, feeling the rough texture of his stubble against his lips, and then moved downward to lick and bite at his neck. The brunette’s breath was hard in his ears, a hand tangling in his hair and gripping tight; he made a low sound of approval at the back of his throat. The other hand journeyed downward to Gregory’s pants, impatiently tugging the clothing down and—there was a sharp intake of breath when Christophe realised that the blonde wasn’t wearing any underwear.

“You like that?” Gregory asked knowingly, his voice deep and purring in his ear. He thrust his groin forward. “I would’ve come into your room naked if I could.”

“You fucking slut,” was Christophe’s immediate response—

One that, apparently, Gregory didn’t take too kindly. Lemongrass-green eyes narrowed darkly and suddenly his hand was in Christophe’s messy brown hair, forcing his head back and making him hiss at the sharp pain. The blonde leaned down and said lowly, pleasant only to the masochists, “ _I’m_ not the slut, Christophe. After all, _you’re_ the one who’s fucking two people—isn’t that right?”

The Frenchman was finally beginning to understand that this wasn’t their usual spontaneous tumble in bed. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously and tried to sit up again, growling in frustration when Gregory continued to hold him down. “What ze fuck are you _doing_?” he snapped.

“Told you already,” he responded easily. “Please do pay attention, Christophe.”

“Let me ze _fuck_ up, Gregory!”

“I don’t think I will.”

Before Christophe could swing a fist at him, Gregory ducked down and moved further down the bed, trailing a hot tongue down the centre of his chest. Christophe huffed, angered but terribly aroused, watching the blonde’s progress with half-lidded eyes. It wasn’t exactly rare for Gregory to be so aggressive, but there was something different about him tonight that Christophe couldn’t quite put his finger on. He didn’t have proper time to think on it though when his thoughts were immediately scattered as Gregory pulled down his boxers and put his mouth on his already hard cock.

“ _Fuck_ ,” the Frenchman cursed, throwing his head back onto his pillow and squeezing his eyes shut. He unconsciously spread his legs a little to let the blonde have more access; he felt Gregory hum against his throbbing flesh before a flat, hot tongue licked all the way up from the bottom of his dick to the tip, and then repeating the motion as the sleek wetness traced his veins. “Ah, _fucking sheet—_ ”

It’s been awhile since he and Gregory had done anything like this; ever since they said they’d try a threesome, Christophe rarely touched him unduly. Gregory had a few hunches as to why, none of which he really cared for. He took the hard flesh into his hand and pumped, sucking on the head and watching closely as Christophe writhed beneath him. He anticipated the thrust upward into his mouth and stopped it with a firm hand on the other’s hip, his eyes twinkling when the Frenchman cursed him bloody for it. He swirled his tongue and sucked, batting away the hands that impatiently wanted to grab at his hair.

“Gregory,” Christophe demanded gruffly, his tanned face flushed and his breaths coming out quick and sharp. He was gripping the sheets in lieu of his hair. “I’m close.” He tried to sit up again but Gregory was having none of that. He released his cock with a wet _pop_ , his lips slightly swollen, and moved upwards quickly to splay a hand over Christophe’s chest to keep him down. The brunette glared and sneered at him, looking about ready to throw him off, but Gregory curbed that motion by reaching down with a hand and tightly grabbing his dick in a mean grip. “ _Fuck_ —you fucking _beetch—_ ”

The outrage was clear in dark bistre eyes, but Gregory only met the gaze calmly. “You will listen to me,” he said simply, sounding way too reasonable for a guy who just had his mouth around a cock. “Turn around.”

“Fuck you.”

“Get on your hands and knees.”

“ _Fuck you_!”

“This is the last time I’m going to ask.”

“ **Fuck. You.** You fucking cocksucking son of a _beetch—_ ”

The displeased click of his tongue was the last warning Christophe had before Gregory gripped his hips tightly and flipped him with a not-so surprising strength. The Frenchman was heavier than he was, so it was no easy feat, but the blonde was strong and determined. Still, Christophe resisted and spat curses at him, moving to right himself and kick his partner’s ass—that was, until Gregory managed to knee his legs apart and took hold of his dick again in an unrelenting, punishing grip. When Christophe struggled, he only tightened his hold and it was actually _painful_ , the fuck—Gregory _was_ a bitch.

He’d throw him off right now and pummel him if he didn’t fear he’d tear his dick off in the process.

Gregory pressed into the Frenchman’s back, having the gall to kiss the back of his neck and earlobe as if he was a tender lover. “Will you listen now, Christophe?” he asked him mildly, voice deep and rumbling. He felt the brunette shiver beneath him.

“Fuck you,” he said again, roughly, trying to keep the strain out of his biting words.

“You sound like a broken record,” he quipped. He pressed a bit more forward, nipping at his ear, and Christophe hissed when he felt the blonde’s erection rubbing at the cleft of his ass. His heart was beating fast, feeling himself panic a little as sweat beaded on his brow. He tensed, but the hand still on his dick squeezed warningly and he cursed. “I want you to listen. Closely.”

“ _What_ ,” Christophe finally ground out, his teeth clenched angrily together. He figured that the sooner Gregory speak whatever shit he wanted to say, the quicker he’d find his release—in all meanings of the word in relation to his captive cock.

“You are going to stop dragging your feet in the dirt and start being fair,” Gregory told him evenly. “You are going to let me and Kyle fuck like how you can fuck with either one of us, and then we can finally start on the highly anticipated kinky fucking threesome sex. Do you understand?”

The fury flared into life inside Christophe, starting from the sharp pain in his temple and then spreading everywhere else like a wildfire. He ignored the threat on his dick and bucked upward, trying to dislodge the blonde off of him. “Get ze fuck off!”

“ _You will **listen** ,_” and his tone of voice alone was enough for Christophe to go rigid beneath him. The anger was still hot and fiery in his chest, but it quailed slightly at the sound of Gregory being so _pissed off_. It was rare to hear him legitimately mad. There was a beat when neither of them dared to move, their bodies heaving as they tried to catch their breaths. Christophe glared at the pillow in front of him, his hands fisting in the sheets of his bed. At last, Gregory seemed to relax on top of him; he released his merciless grip on his cock and stroked it softly, as if in apology. Christophe didn’t move and wished he could will his body not to respond to his touches, but alas, God hated him. He licked his dry lips as Gregory worked on him, stroking skin and massaging him where he knew he was weak, planting kisses along his spine. Long, nimble fingers traced the scars on his olive-skinned body, tongue doing the same on the scars that decorated his back. Christophe did all he could to keep himself from collapsing, squeezing his eyes shut.

It wasn’t long until Gregory had him hard and leaking again, desperate to come. He was only just mildly pissed now by how he’d been handled earlier, but with them—it had really always been that way. Christophe knew he’d done far worse to Gregory. Sometimes, they didn’t want to be gentle on each other—didn’t need to be.

“I’m not going to reassure you about _feelings_ like I’m sure Kyle already has, a thousand times,” the British man began to speak. He moved away to crawl across the bed, rummaging in Christophe’s top drawer for where he knew he kept the lube. Now that Gregory wasn’t holding him down, the Frenchman sat up and glared openly at the blonde. He kept silent, watching him warily. “Instead, I’m going to try and get through to you in a different way.” When Gregory turned back to face him and saw Christophe’s change of position, he only arched his brow expectantly.

Christophe was able to hold his gaze for exactly a minute before he scowled and reassumed his position, avoiding his eyes. His face burned and his heart galloped erratically, his whole body stiff with tension. He hated bottoming, but the look in Gregory’s eyes said he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. And he really wanted to fucking come. (He could use his hand, but still. Still.)

The blonde made a noise of approval and knelt behind the brunette, hands soothingly stroking his broad back. “Good boy,” he murmured, which had Christophe bristling again until he bent down and kissed him in the centre of his spine. “I’ll make you feel so good.”

“Fuck you, Gregory,” he snapped, but there was a lack of hostile heat in his words that had been there prior. 

“Perhaps after,” he responded absently, squirting a generous amount of lube into his hand. He nudged Christophe’s legs further apart and, with a hand steadying his hip, he began to rub his lube-slicked hand between the other’s ass cheeks. The brunette stiffened at the sudden cold sensation but was kept in place by a strong grip. “Bend down,” Gregory demanded.

Christophe squeezed his eyes shut and cursed at him again, feeling his pride take a sharp dive. He reluctantly lowered himself, resting his head on his forearms as his ass stuck in the air for the blonde’s perusing leisure. His ears burned.

This time, the other didn’t have a degradatory comment for him and kept mercifully silent. He pushed a sleeked finger inside his tight asshole and Christophe hissed into his arms, biting, “Fucking careful!”

“Tell me,” the blonde said instead, and Christophe hated how steady he sounded. Here he was unravelling and Gregory sounded like they were having a casual conversation over fucking breakfast. It was one of the many reasons he preferred to top the cocky motherfucker, because at least then he wouldn’t be the one with control. “Has Kyle ever topped you?” He worked his finger into him and Christophe tried to convince himself it didn’t feel as good as it did.

“None of your fucking business,” he panted.

“It kind of is,” the other rebuked, inserting another finger. Christophe had to bite his tongue to contain the whine that wanted to tear itself from his throat. “Does the whole concept of a three-way relationship elude you, Christophe?”

“Shut up.” Gregory’s fingers twisted inside of him and he reflexively bucked his hips, groaning quietly. Even after so long, the other was still able to find his prostate so fucking _easily_. Shocks of pleasure ran up and down his body like electricity, making him minutely rock back into those sinful hands.

“Because I think it does,” the blonde continued, watching and delighting with how Christophe responded to his touch. “You don’t understand how _great_ we could be—how _good_ it would feel.” He prepared Christophe thoroughly, ignoring his own neglected cock and focusing his efforts on pleasuring the brunette. As he worked open his hole, his other arm wrapped around his waist and he grasped the Frenchman’s leaking cock, pumping it leisurely. In thanks, Christophe cursed at him. “For instance,” he remarked, “if Kyle was here right now, he’d be occupying that filthy mouth of yours. He’s a damn good kisser.” At Christophe’s choked growl, he smirked and said lightly, “Or would you rather he be fucking your mouth instead?”

“ _Gregory—_ ” the brunette warned, beginning to rise up on shaky arms. But Gregory was having none of that and leaned over him, pressing him down even as he continued to work him. He groaned and panted, unable to do anything else, the pleasure sharp and addicting.

“You need to stop being so damn selfish and let us have each other,” Gregory scolded, as if the one he was finger-fucking was a child. Despite himself, Christophe rocked back on the blonde’s hands, desperate for more friction, for something _bigger—_ “You’re insecure? Get the fuck over it. So is Kyle, and you don’t see him guilt-tripping you when you fuck me, do you?”

“Fuck… Fuck you…” The words stung, and the sensation of that was at extreme odds with the pleasure wracking his body.

“Am I wrong?” Gregory challenged in a low whisper, pressing a kiss on Christophe’s shoulder blade.

“Eet… Eet’s not fucking fair zat you’re talking about zis _now_ ,” the brunette snapped, his teeth grinding together. “Can’t eet fucking _wait_?”

“No. I’m trying to prove a point.”

“What ze fuck are you— _ah_ , fuck—” Christophe made a low keening sound that sounded like a whine when Gregory pulled his fingers out of him. He huffed into his arms, his cheeks burning when Gregory pushed his ass cheeks apart; he could just feel the stare the British man was drilling into his sleeked asshole. He impatiently rocked back, wanting Gregory to just get _on_ with it already, _fuck_ —

But the other seemed completely unrushed, lazily stroking his leaking cock as he kissed his left buttock. He knew what Christophe needed to come and he was purposefully avoiding the pace; he wanted to fuck into his hand, but when he tried, Gregory only went slower. “Aren’t you even just a _little_ bit curious?” he murmured to him. “Because I am. I want to see how you two are like together. I’ve heard snippets of noises here and there and the only things I know is that Kyle is _loud_ and it is _good_. I honestly felt a little jealous in the beginning.”

Christophe clenched his teeth, hearing the other’s words just above the haze of frustrated pleasure. He didn’t know how much of what Gregory was saying was actually true, and he didn’t know how to feel about it if they were. “Gregory… Just… Just shut ze fuck up and fuck me already,” he griped, eyes squeezed shut. This had to be the most they’d ever talked during sex, he realised—well, minus the screaming matches that they’d had before, which didn’t really count as proper conversation. This one didn’t really either, because half of Christophe’s responses had been curses and impatient goads so far anyway.

“I’d be happy to just watch mostly, to be honest,” Gregory continued and Christophe had to resist pounding his fist into his bed like a child throwing a tantrum. He felt the blonde lean over him to whisper huskily into his ear, “I’ve fantasised about it, you know.”

The tone and the words made Christophe’s mouth run dry. “What?”

“You fucking him,” he breathed, and he felt Gregory at last beginning to shift in position behind him. He nearly bucked backwards to speed up the process but didn’t dare. The blonde placed his hands on either side of Christophe’s waist, his grip steadily tightening. The head of his cock rubbed at his sleeked entrance and it took all of his self-control not to thrust back and just _take it_. Why was Gregory always such sweet torture to him? “Up against the wall, on a desk, in the shower,” the blonde said sensually, circling his hips. Christophe panted, the images coming unbidden to his mind—the memories. God, he wanted his hand back on his cock again—“And you’d plough into him just like how you plough into me, without mercy, and he’d be a _screamer_ , oh yes.”

“G-Gregory,” the brunette said, and it wasn’t a plead, it _wasn’t_ , he still had _pride_ , but he needed him right now—

“Mmm?”

“… F… Fuck me, you bastard,” Christophe hissed. He twisted his upper body so that he was able to cast an irritated glare over his shoulder. “Or I’ll fucking get _Kyle_ to do eet.”

A lot of things happened then, all at once: Gregory’s eyes darkened, his smile became a little tighter, nails dug into his skin, and their leader’s cock was suddenly sheathed completely inside of his wet asshole and Christophe let out a loud curse, the sharp intrusion burning him from the inside out.

“Fuck!” he swore, his arms trembling. “Motherfucker!”

Gregory didn’t even give him any time to adjust; he just pumped into him, his grip tight enough to leave bruises if Christophe had bruised easily, beginning a steady, brutal rhythm that struck him _deep_. Christophe closed his eyes tightly, his expression pinched half in pain, half in pleasure. He was hardly ever on the receiving end and his ass was raw, tight, unfamiliar with being so _used_. The British man’s dick was hard and long as it slid in and out of him, driving him into the mattress.

“Oh?” Gregory asked, sounding breathless at last. He leaned over him, his chest to his back, pushing Christophe down into te bed with an unbidden whine. “So you like the thought of him fucking you, do you? Well, I’m not going to lie—so do I.” He nudged Christophe’s knees apart even wider, making him bare himself even more as he thrust in deeper. “I’d love to see you in your entirety getting thoroughly _fucked_ , and I’m sure Kyle will deliver. He’s an angry little ball with a mean fist, and I’m sure he’ll put you in your place.”

“F-Fuck, ah, _fuck—_ ” Christophe’s breaths and words were coming out broken; he was so painfully hard, the images that flashed through his mind’s eye and the sound of Gregory’s husky voice making him drunk. The cock that pumped in and out of him was unrelenting, not even breaking in its rhythm as Gregory spoke. He hated bottoming—it always made him feel so _vulnerable_ , so helpless, and his dick leaked desperately, begging to be touched. With a groan, he shifted so that he was able to get a hand beneath him, seeking it.

But Gregory caught the movement and he didn’t seem happy about it at all. He gripped Christophe’s hips and slammed in hard enough that he sent Christophe surging forward, the bed thumping against the wall. The Frenchman cursed colourfully and Gregory reached around him to grab his wrists, pushing forward until Christophe was lying flat on his stomach and pinned his wrists above his head.

“O-Oh, fuck, _fuck_ , Gregory—” The new position had his dick pressed up mercilessly against the mattress, and Gregory didn’t stop his thrusting, drilling him into the bed and rocking him harshly. He clenched his teeth as his dick rubbed torturously on the sweat-soaked sheets, unable to move even his arms as the blonde kept him in place. “Oh fuck, _oh fuck_ , fucking sheet, you fucking bastard, _fuck_ —”

“You like that?” Gregory asked, and there was something hot and heavy in his voice, his control utterly snapped. Christophe groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. The blonde placed a mockingly tender kiss on the back of his neck that belied the brutal pace he set. “Imagine, Christophe, just imagine this: I’m drilling you, mm, just like this— _yes_ —but instead of the bed I’m making you fuck, you’re fucking _Kyle—_ ”

Christophe wasn’t proud of the strangled moan that escaped his throat. Fuck. Fuck.

“Your dick will be in his ass, but I will be the one riding you both as I force you to fuck him with a pace _I_ set. And can you imagine this pace, Christophe?” He thrust forward hard and fast, making the brunette see stars; Gregory always knew when he hit his prostate in the way he shook and arched and trembled. “Can you imagine fucking Kyle this hard? Have you before? He’ll feel the weight of _both_ of us on top of him and he will _scream_ , he will _beg_ —ah—can you hear him?”

“Y-Yes,” Christophe groaned, giving in finally, finally, _finally_. He imagined this situation, his hands clenching into tight fists above him and imagining them in Kyle’s hair. “Yes, fuck, I can fucking hear ‘im, because he eez fucking _loud_ and he eez such a fucking pretty screamer, ‘is face gets all fucking red, ‘is chest too, fuck, _everything—_ ”

Gregory’s eyes darkened and he licked his lips, placing more kisses on Christophe’s back, biting him. “I want to see that,” he said lowly, pumping faster and making the other groan. “I want to _hear_ that, and not through fucking walls. I want to—ah—fuck you and watch you fuck him, watch you fuck his—hhh—his perfect little ass, and after you’re all spent I want to fuck the ass filled with your come and you’ll fuck his pretty little mouth so he can’t scream—”

“Gregory, Gregory, you b-bastard, _fucking sheet_ —”

“We’ll come all over him, paint him white, and he’ll be all _ours_ , just ours, and we will never share him, I’ll never share you with anyone else, you _won’t let_ _anyone else_ _touch us—_ ”

Christophe thrashed beneath him, groaning and whining and hissing in equal measures as he desperately humped the mattress and simultaneously drove his ass back into Gregory’s cock. Gregory gripped his wrists tight and ploughed into him, gritting his teeth together and for once unable to speak, channelling all his energy to just ruining Christophe’s asshole so he would feel it for _days_ , would remember this for a long, long time and recall the words, the fantasy that didn’t need to remain just a _fantasy_ —

“It... It can be real,” he managed to say hoarsely, biting at Christophe’s shoulder, feeling his release building up higher and higher and higher, and he chased it, he fucking chased it like an animal, quickening his thrusts, deepening the angle of their hips. Christophe met him eagerly, just as desperate as he was, but Gregory didn’t know if he heard, and he needed him to have _heard_ —“ _It can be real_. Christophe, Kyle is _ours_.”

“ _Fuck—_ ”

And then Christophe spilled onto his sheets, imagining that he was coming into Kyle. Gregory felt him clench impossibly tight around his cock and he gave a few more jerky, hard thrusts before he was spilling as well, deep into the brunette. He groaned and continued to pump his seed into him as he rode out his orgasm, arms tight around the other and locking him beneath him as Christophe himself writhed in blissful agony. His mind chased the images that led up to such an explosive orgasm and he panted, the white finally fading from his eyes. He kissed the back of Christophe’s neck gently, kissed his shoulder, open-mouthed and wet and languid. He slipped out of him soon enough, the brunette groaning as he did as if he didn’t want him to leave.

“Ah, fuck…” the Frenchman murmured, his face still buried in the mattress.

Gregory let himself collapse on his back next to him, his breaths coming out hard and fast, his whole body aching and completely satisfied. He glanced at the other, smiling slightly in amusement. He reached out and ran his fingers through the mess that was his hair, remarking slightly hoarsely, “You’re lying in your own semen. Doesn’t that bother you?”

The other mustered up enough energy to move his arm and give him the finger. Gregory chuckled and retracted his hand, letting it fall to his side as he stared up at the ceiling, attempting to recover from that surprisingly intense fuck—even by their standards.

They elapsed into a comfortable silence, broken only by their heavy breaths. Eventually, their breathing evened out and their minds cleared; Gregory waited patiently for the Frenchman’s reaction, because he certainly wasn’t going to speak first.

He heard Christophe sigh and he looked at him as he turned his head. Their gazes met and while the brunette was unsmiling, Gregory was able to decipher the wary curiosity in his dark eyes, the poorly-hidden fascination. He schooled the smile that wanted to appear on his face, feeling that it was too early to cheer for victory. With a grunt, Christophe finally rose and peeled himself off the mattress, wincing as his over-sensitised cock brushed against it. He cringed even more at the sticky semen on his stomach and he tossed the blonde a glare as if it had been his fault, to which Gregory only arched an elegant eyebrow in response.

“Should’ve used a condom,” Christophe muttered, looking away. He picked up one of their discarded pieces of clothing from the foot of the bed and started to wipe himself off with it. “Fuck. My ass is leaking.” This time, the glare directed at the blonde was justified and heated.

The corner of Gregory’s lips rose in amusement, ignoring how the other’s eyes narrowed further. “My apologies,” he said and even a deaf man would know it was completely insincere.

Christophe bared his teeth at that but otherwise didn’t comment further, tossing the dirty shirt away. He crawled up to the head of the bed, wincing minutely at the ache in his body but like a true soldier he powered through it. He took a packet of cigarettes from his drawer and lit one up, breathing in deeply and releasing the smoke lazily into the bedroom air. His room smelt like sex and smoke now, which oddly embodied Christophe rather well (it was just missing that metallic scent of blood and the earthy smell of dirt, and then it’d be perfect).

After the brunette took a few drags in silence, he then offered the stick to Gregory. The British man took it and pressed the stick to his lips, closing his eyes and breathing in the sweet poison. He smiled when he heard Christophe lighting another cigarette for himself.

“So,” Christophe began gruffly, voice hoarse. “What ze fuck was zat.”

Christophe’s first words post-coitus was not of him kicking him out. Gregory was even more assured of his victory. “I think you know,” the blonde responded serenely, not looking at him as he took another drag of the cigarette. He wondered if Kyle ever allowed Christophe to have his favourite smoke after sex. He wondered if they shared a cancer stick post-coitus too.

The Frenchman’s silence was very telling. Gregory finally cracked an eye open and regarded him beneath his lashes. The brunette’s expression was expectedly blank, brown eyes gazing unseeingly into the wall as his fingers loosely held his cigarette. He continued to say nothing and Gregory’s lips threatened to spread into a smile. There they were, Gregory lying down and the other sitting cross-legged, both completely unabashed by their state of nudity and sharing a quiet smoke.

It felt close to perfect.

There was just one, particular redhead missing from the picture.

“… I’m fucking tired,” Christophe muttered, tossing his cigarette into the ashtray. He stood up, uncaring that he was bared completely in all his glory for Gregory’s wandering eyes, and walked towards the door. “Take off ze fucking sheets and go ze fuck to sleep.”

That wasn’t a dismissal. Gregory’s eyebrows shot up slightly in surprise, but he did as he was told and removed the ruined sheets. As soon as he did that, his vision turned dark as the lights were cut and he heard the brunette scuffling back towards the bed. He collapsed on top of it and blindly reached out to grab Gregory’s arm, dragging him down into the mattress with him.

He didn’t fight him, didn’t want to.

He felt like he’d achieved more than one victory tonight.

* * *

Kyle had woken up to the sound of shouting and he’d exited his room to investigate. At first he’d been worried, but he saw the light under Christophe’s bedroom and he knew it was him and Gregory having a row. He’d walked closer to the door, wondering if he should intervene, until the shouts sounded less like they were fighting and more like something else.

He should’ve left as soon as he’d realised. His cheeks had flushed red and he felt the tips of his ears go hot, but for some reason, his feet remained where they were. He couldn’t make out what either of them said at all—all he heard were the vehement curses of a familiar Frenchman and the loud squeaking of a mattress. They sounded like they were having fun—it sounded _intense_. (That wasn’t a surprise, not at all.)

He’d gotten half-hard just listening to them until he realised what he was doing and became ashamed. He rushed back into his room as silently as he could, thinking that the chances of them hearing him were next to zero, and buried himself under the covers. There was a tight feeling in his chest that wasn’t exactly jealousy, but at least the shame wasn’t powerful enough to keep his hand from diving into his boxers to stroke himself off.

If he listened carefully, he could hear the headboard banging into the wall and he closed his eyes, imagining them fucking so rough and so hard that they’d move the bed, both of them switching on who was doing the fucking in his chopped fantasy, and eventually came into his hand.

When he was panting and coming down from his blissful high, he realised what that tight feeling in his chest was.

He wished he was there with them.


End file.
